


Shelter From the Storm

by avgust



Series: Through the Ages [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Elven politics, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Last Alliance of Elves and Men, M/M, Second Age, Unrequited Love, War, political divides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9314894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avgust/pseuds/avgust
Summary: Through the storms of war, many fates will be forever changed. Kings will fall, and Kings will rise, and the shadow of Sauron would seek to destroy them all.This story is set during the long years of the War of the Last Alliance, and focuses on the events that occurred during the war.  The continuing love between Thranduil and Glorfindel is explored, and how the war impacts them. It also covers Thranduil's coming to terms with Oropher's death during the Battle of Dagorlad, and with the crown and the throne of Greenwood.This story also covers Elrond and Gil-galad's tumultuous relationship, and then ultimately how Elrond comes to terms with Gil-galad's death.Like all my stories, this one is A/U and takes liberties with canon. Many liberties will be taken with timelines and events but I do try to reflect some canon.Part 3 of the series Through the Ages:This is the third story in the series Through the Ages.  It would be beneficial to read the story Liquid Diamonds first to understand the characters.





	1. A Wall Between Us

"…. and the goddess fled to the heavens to escape this land's sorrows and its pain. Unable to look away however, the goddess will always keep one of her eyes on her children. By day, she watches us, and this we call our sun, and by night, she watches through her other eye, the moon."

Thranduil sat listening to the forest men tell their ancient stories by the light of the fire. In these pre-war days of camping, he found himself often with these men, intrigued by their strange lore and stories. He knew his presence would be missed in his father's camp, but he little cared. His objections to Oropher's plans fell only on deaf ears anyways.

"But one day not even the goddess will be able to keep her gaze on this land forever, and when she has finally seen enough, her eyes will shut, and then only darkness will cover the land."

This darkness will cover the land, Thranduil thought, and he let his eyes shut, while he thought about just what was on the horizon. A darkness indeed was spreading like a sickness over the land. It was a sickness that had brought them all here, standing on the precipice of war.

"And her eyes were shut, and the land and her children feel into the darkness. The goddess will weep no more. The shadows now covers her children, and she will see them no more."

A shifting of a burning log brought Thranduil's attention back to the campsite, and he was aware that the men were passing meat to one another, commencing with their evening meal. He excused himself, as he always did when the time to eat came, and he headed back to his own tent.

"For in the darkness, does true despair fester…."

The man's words faded into the night as Thranduil walked away from them.

The camp he walked from was situated near his father's camp, for the men who lived under and around Greenwood forest knew the elves and their king to be kindred people. They had requested to camp near to the King of Greenwood, for it was in him that they saw an ancient paladin, forever protective of them.

Thranduil did not have far to walk, but he moved with a pace that suggested that he did not care to return to his people. He walked as if in a daze, because he had entered into a place deep in his mind where the words from the men looped in his thoughts.

But the solitude of thoughts was not so easily kept in the middle of an alliance that was hundred of thousands strong.

"Would you keep yourself away from your kin on the eve of war?" One of his father's captain's asked, pulling Thranduil from his thought like trance. "We broke bread without you, and concluded the finality of your father's plans."

"I will be briefed on the morrow." Thranduil replied, uninterested. "I have already assured Oropher that I will do his will."

"Thranduil." The captain grabbed him before he could enter into his tent. "Your actions are dangerous. Do not divide yourself further from your king."

"Your warning is heeded and I assure you, there is no rift. I follow his command alone."

"The Noldor are not the answer." The captain called to Thranduil, but his words fell on deaf ears.

  
\-------------------------------

  
The armies of the alliance had been camped for less than a week since the captains of the west had arrived. Each day had passed with meeting after meeting, as the captains finalized the last reviews of their battle strategy.

Glorfindel had been present for each meeting, accepting that he was a captain for the Imladris troops. It was a duty that he was honored to have, yet the gravity of the position terrified him deep within. It was a subtle fear that threatened to embed itself into his every thought, and cripple even the might of his body. Countless souls were under his watch. It was a task he did not take lightly.

Now that evening was on the camp, Glorfindel walked down the narrow paths between the tents. Even surrounded by the armies of the alliance he felt alone, empty almost. This was what he had wanted, a clear head and an empty heart. But the emptiness was taxing, exhausting even. He moved quickly as if he had a purpose, away from the center of the camp where the commanders were posted, and out to the edges where the night wardens made their watch.

Glorfindel sat under the mantle of the night and his thoughts drifted away from the war. It was a foolish game that his mind now played with him. His heart tugged at him. Why was it that a friend could cause such turmoil and confusion. He frowned. His thoughts should not lead him to wasteful obsessions that would never manifest again. But yet his thoughts continued on. Could Thranduil really only be just his friend? Glorfindel was not sure if the seeds that Thranduil had planted in his heart would ever wither and die.

"To think an enemy millions strong awaits us in that dark unknown." Elrond's familiar voice brought Glorfindel from his thoughts.

"Elrond. I would not think to find you here. Have you drawn a watch, or have you volunteered?"

"Neither." Elrond answered while he seated himself next to Glorfindel.

"I too wanted the illusion of freedom from this impending war. I am not sure why, but the piercing darkness is soothing. It is as if the woes of the world have disappeared under the illusion of the night."

Glorfindel smiled to himself, glad that Elrond offered him his company, glad that his thoughts about Thranduil had been stopped, so he could once again focus on what really mattered.

"But I know this illusion will fade with the morning come." Elrond sighed.

Glorfindel turned to study Elrond. In the dark of night under moon and starlight, Elrond's features were hard to decipher. It was his voice alone that was transparent.

"Have you seen the future in one of your visions?"

Elrond did not respond immediately, but instead dipped his head down. "What the Valar have shown to me was what we already knew. Death beyond imagine will come to find us. There will be lamenting in our songs for many years to come."

With his words, Elrond bade him goodnight, excusing himself, heading back to whatever destination he had been going to. Glorfindel was once again alone in his reflection.

Elrond had stated nothing beyond what he already knew would come to pass, but at the same time, his words struck Glorfindel to his very core. And even though he really should have thought about every soul that was his to command and protect, his thoughts could only turn to Thranduil. Words from years ago flashed within his mind.

"I see myself laying dead….."

Glorfindel frowned deeper, and a sudden gust of wind blew over the fields and through the camp. In the distance he could hear the sounds of voices, but he paid them little mind. He now wanted instead to focus on his memories. He tried to subdue the growing dread that was building inside. Would the secluded arms of the Greenwood not have kept Thranduil safe? Or was it here on the fields of war that his doom would surely find him?

Glorfindel could only hang his head, not sure what sort of answer he would find with the coming of the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read.
> 
>  
> 
> The title for this story and that chapter titles are shamelessly stolen from the amazing Bob Dylan song Shelter From the Storm.


	2. Bound To Cross The Line

**S.A. 3434**

 

The plains on which the armies of the alliance camped laid stretched around them. These lands were a wasteland, and were expansive as a great dead memory. Nothing grew, except unease and fear that festered in the minds of those who lingered here. While their valor was strong with the knowing that their failure to defeat Sauron would mean the end of their very freedoms, still unease and doubt festered within the ranks of the alliance. There was a nervous pulse that osculated throughout the camp, heightened by the desolate landscape that stretched around them.

They had made camp here a fortnight ago, after they had driven Sauron's forces further east. These lands were just outside the gates of Mordor, where Sauron himself reigned behind his vast and vile armies. It was on these plains that the alliance lingered as if in waiting. To Oropher, it felt as if this wait was to toy with them, unleashing an unnerve that would destroy them. The far seeing servants of their enemy he knew were watching them. Oropher hated that they watched them far off in the dark wastelands that surrounded them. He hated that they watched them play this game of stalemate in their waiting.

The first few days after they had driven the armies further to the east, Oropher had agreed to this strategy. He understood the merit that resting and planning had, and how it would be essential to collect themselves and allow for a time for recouping their strength. They had fought many battles in the weeks preceding just to make it to the lands that bordered Mordor. Those battles had been hard fought and won, and their wounds were many. The armies needed time to regain their strength and resolve. Oropher had agreed to make their camps, and wait for the scouts to go out and report what lay in waiting for them on the horizon, behind those massive black gates before Mordor.

But as the days rolled on, and the reports began coming in, Oropher began to rethink their strategy. The news that the scouts provided was alarming. Sauron's armies stretched beyond what the eye could comprehend. Comprised of vile and deadly creatures, Oropher knew that waiting only allowed their enemy to grow stronger and allowed them time to scout their own armies. Sauron's eyes were on them, watching them, analyzing them. He hated this strategy, for it allowed their enemy to gain the upper hand. Action needed to be taken. Oropher concluded that there was more merit in a surprise attack than this wait that Gil-galad now mandated.

Oropher wondered just what really waited and festered just on the horizon. The scouts had told of a massive army comprised of legions of beasts and orcs whose only intent was for the enslavement and annihilation of those who resisted Sauron. But, he also knew that the scouts could not see and know everything, and in the shadow of Sauron's towers, the darkness of the land had cast a dread upon his soul. It was sickening and merciless, and for the first time in his very long life, Oropher felt the true depths of terror. Sauron had the ultimate weapon, and with it he sought the utter control of those who would resist him. Defeat was not an option, and Oropher's heart trembled in the shadow of Mordor.

And in his watch and wait his own mind had fallen idle as well, disquieted with their long wait in tarry. Rest had been taken and to Oropher too much rest in the mind of a solider was akin to falling into the uncertainty of doubt and fear. He could fell fear growing within his ranks. Idleness was a stronger enemy than even was fatigue and fear. He no longer could understand Gil-galad's reasoning or strategy for wanting to prolong their wait. They had driven the enemy back, and to Oropher, he couldn't understand why Gil-galad and even Elendil did not want to conduct an aggressive approach. Oropher knew that the day of their attack would come sooner rather than later. The Noldor moved too slow and allowed Sauron the opportunity to regroup. Their strategy was madness.

Through these days of wait and planning, Oropher had not yet severed communications with the other commanders of the alliance. Even though he refused to acknowledge Gil-galad's command, he allowed Thranduil to attend the alliance's meetings. Thranduil would return from the meetings, relaying exactly what Gil-galad's plans were. Even though Oropher would never fall under their command, he still wanted to know the details of their thoughts. He would listen to the reports that Thranduil brought, mulling over the words of the plans until he grew angry and would interrupt him. Usually the later would occur within minutes, and Oropher's ire would manifest almost immediately.

Despite this constant hostility, Thranduil continued to represent the Greenwood in Gil-galad's council while they made camp on the fields. It was a useful ploy, since it allowed Oropher the opportunity to discuss with his own captains and those of Lorien with the planning of their own assault. Perhaps to Gil-galad and the other commanders, they now assumed that the Silvan armies had finally yielded and simply awaited Gil-galad's command on when and how to attack Sauron. But what seemed to be their willingness to follow Gil-galads commands, was instead a fevered planning of their own approach of attack.

Oropher did not worry about his son's involvement with the Nolder. Thranduil would march with them even without Gil-galad's approval. Oropher had no doubt in his son's loyalty. The spell that Glorfindel had cast on him had been broken. Thranduil's loyalties were woven deep to the Greenwood alone. Blood was thicker than water could ever be.

Oropher wondered if Gil-galad suspected and he wondered if Thranduil feed him clues of their plans. If this were the case, the High-King of the Noldor didn't bother to approach him, and Thranduil mentioned nothing of any suspicions. Even if the High-King did know of what they planned, Oropher cared not. He did not answer to anyone but the Valar alone.

“Oropher.” Amdir announced his presence, bringing Oropher out from his stream of thoughts.

“Is it already that time?” Oropher rose in greeting to his fellow King and closest ally.

“I actually am a little early for our meeting today, for this pause before the storm has left me beyond anxious.” Amdir took a seat by Oropher, who too had sat once more.

“Oropher, my army grows restless and the whispers of their worry threatens to unnerve their great resolve. We can not tarry any longer. Action needs to come.”

Oropher nodded, understanding the words. “Then we are in agreement regarding the course of action that we must take. Our attack comes soon. The time to ready our armies has came and we will meet our enemy before those black gates.”

Oropher closed his eyes, and he forced his heart to steady. The time for their final battle had finally come.  
________

Thranduil entered his father's tent late in the evening, just after one of the alliance meetings had concluded. Oropher sat alone, eyes closed as if in deep contemplation. Thranduil knew that his father had been in his own meeting today with the leaders of the Silvan armies, discussing their own course of action. Oropher didn't bother to open his eyes, but Thranduil could tell that he was welcome to address him.

“Gil-galad has requested your presence tomorrow.” Thranduil stated, seating himself across from Oropher. “The last of the scouts have returned. We discussed what their eyes have seen. The reports were terrible. What lays in waiting at the Gates of Mordor is evil that we dared not imagine. But it is the reality that faces us. Sauron has gathered to him more than what we had anticipated. Tomorrow the final strategies will need to be revised. For the sake of our army, you need to be present.”

Oropher opened his eyes, exhaling in his annoyance at the request. “And what would I need to discuss with Gil-galad? He already knows the stance of our armies. I will not have our people wait for our enemy to play their hand first. Prior to setting up camp here, we have pushed Sauron's armies further east and we have destroyed many of them. But now we let their numbers grow again? It is asinine to let them lick their festering wounds and recoup their strength. We should already be at Sauron's gate! But no, the High-King would have us wait to react to Sauron's move. Tell me Thranduil, do you see the reasoning in that?”

“I see the merit in waiting, but then again, I understand that need to attack. However, you must understand that we are not yet ready for an assault. In learning what else is comprised within Sauron's armies, we have not yet derived a sufficient plan to counter his weapons. We may have had the early victories, but they were hard won and were against the armies that were diluted. We have not yet encountered his full strength.”

Oropher shook his head, and with his deep green eyes, he dismissed Thranduil's words. “Our might can match that of Sauron's, I hold no doubt in that.”

“Gil-galad has really stressed the importance of your attendance.” Thranduil repeated, understanding that his father did not want to debate this night.

“I am sure he did.” Oropher laughed, annoyance evident. “I am sure he is wondering if we have now accepted his course of action as our own. He does not care to take my council. He never has. All we ever were to him were puppets that he could command and use. Gil-galad has never viewed us as equals. Our council means nothing to him. But then again….” Oropher's voice stopped as his mind entertained a different possibility.

“Can they expect you to join tomorrow?” Thranduil asked, wondering what his father's changing expression meaned.

Oropher was silent for awhile, and he closed his eyes as if he were seriously pondering Thranduil's question. His deep green eyes opened, but when they did, they were unreadable to Thranduil. For a minute they sat in silence.

“We will attack in two days time.” Oropher finally said, voice stern with the intent to let Thranduil know that debate was not an option. “The captains already are preparing the armies for our plans. It is time for action, Thranduil. We will strike first, instead of waiting for Sauron to make the first move. We will not let our enemy dictate how and when we attack. We will force Gil-galad into action, whether he likes it or not. I can not have our armies lose their resolve in the uncertainties of wait. This current strategy is allowing Sauron's forces to regain their strength, and this I fear more than acting in haste. We move on our on accord, and Amdir and I both agree that the time for war is now.”

“We cannot attack alone!” Thranduil answered in response, voice transparent with his disapproval.

“No we cannot. I fully agree with you on that Thranduil. But what we can do is force the alliance into action. Gil-galad will see our reason in the end. We will force our enemies hand, and Sauron will fall to our might. Under our leadership, I do not doubt the outcome of an Alliance victory.”

Thranduil sighed on hearing his father's words. His heart seemed to freeze and his mind spun with the worry of his uncertainty. “And this will be discussed tomorrow?” he finally asked once his mind had stilled.

“Yes, Thranduil. I will go to Gil-galad's meeting tomorrow, and our plan will be discussed. I do not seek his approval, but what I do want is for him to hear me out.”

Oropher could see the relief that washed over Thranduil's face. “Tomorrow we will discuss the final battle plans. It is up to Gil-galad to work with what we offer. For now, I have nothing more to say. Take your leave and take your rest. The day before a battle will unnerve every last bit of resolve that has grown within you.”

\------------

There was a certain energy that pulsated and moved through the camp when morning broke. It was a sort of collective energy of a great anticipation that spoke of what would come to pass. Glorfindel felt it. It swelled like the rising crescendos of Gil-galad's and Oropher's grumblings at one another. Glorfindel had at first been part of the debates, if one could call them that. But as the morning had turned from the calm of the dawn, to that of conflict between the fractions within the alliance, Glorfindel had simply had enough of it. He didn't care if everyone regarded him curiously when he departed. He wanted no part of this madness today, so he simply had taken his leave. He now seated himself alone far from the command tent on the outer edges of their camp.

At this point, the internal bickering should have been over, because on that vast horizon was the might of Sauron's armies. But this was not the case. Angry voices had echoed in the morning, and disclosed just how divided some within the alliance actually were. Neither side would listen to the other, and because of that, a workable solution would never be found.

Oropher had disclosed that the Silvan armies would march to war in the morning. The others had protested the timing, claiming that it was still too soon to fight, and of course no agreement could be settled on. Glorfindel fully agreed with Gil-galad's reasoning, but nothing that they said could dissuade Oropher from his plan of action. And to make matters worse, the only voice of reason within Oropher's ranks was missing from the meeting. Thranduil was not present, and Glorfindel was not sure where he was, or what he was doing.

His eyes scanned the plains before him that led to the very gates of Mordor. In time, he knew that he would be before those gates. The thought that that time could be tomorrow froze his heart, for he knew that the timing was just not right. They had just collected the last bit of intelligence regarding Sauron's armies, and Oropher's plan did little to counter the new information that they had learned. They needed just a little more time before they led their charge against the Black Gates of Mordor. To charge into battle tomorrow would be disastrous. Surely Oropher would see this reason.

Glorfindel could only wonder what the final outcome of today's meeting would be. Without Thranduil's reasoning for his father, would Oropher listen to the words that Gil-galad and Elendil spoke, or would their words only fall on deaf ears? Glorfindel also wondered if Gil-galad and Elendil would listen to Oropher's thoughts as well. Despite his impatience, Oropher did have the same goal of protecting their people and defeating evil. There was merit in Oropher's urgency for action. But without a mediator, there truly would never be an alliance between the Silvan and Noldorin armies.

As a captain, it really wasn't his place to make decisions for their army. His job was to take orders from his commander, and he would. He would follow Gil-galad's command, and he knew that he would be briefed on the outcome of today's meeting on his return. Now was not the time for him to think about their plans. He had spent countless days obsessing over it. Now what he needed was the serenity of this false illusion of stillness that he now found in his solitude. He closed his eyes, willing his mind to relax and his nerves to calm.

"There is almost a hush from the sky today." Thranduil seated himself by Glorfindel, rousing the meditating other from his thoughts.

"A hush?" Glorfindel could still feel his ears bleeding from the morning's meeting, and his heart and mind were still heavy with worry. The dangerous fractions of their alliance would mean disaster in the end.

"If you find that this day is too still for your liking there is a battle raging within the command tent right now." Glorfindel shook his head. "Come to think of it Thranduil, why were you not there for this meeting? The scouts delivered their reports and now our leaders debate the final battle plans."

Glorfindel studied his friend whose deep green eyes seemed to frown. They looked tired, stormy even, as if they still reflected a distant love for him, longing even, like the snow covered fields that yearns for the warm sun of spring. Maybe he was just projecting his own longing for Thranduil that still threatened to surface every time he was near him. At any rate, he dispelled the thoughts from his mind, knowing that he needed to focus on far more important matters.

"What possibly could I bring to the discussion? Oropher will not listen to me. I sat in on our pre-war councils and my words were only met with indifference. I've given up that fight. My father does not need to lose more allies. I should really be the last person who questions or fights with him."

"But you know that he plans such madness, Thranduil! You should have heard his stubborn words. He will not listen to reason, and would put the whole armies of the alliance needlessly at risk. Although he agrees that laying in wait has merit, he now is insisting that we attack on the morrow. I see his true intentions. Even if Gil-galad does meet him in the morning for the march to war, Oropher will not cooperate in a unified attack. He puts his people needlessly in risk."

Thranduil closed his eyes, reflecting on Glorfindel's words. He knew that his father would act alone, even if the alliance did not agree to action soon. The waiting was over for the Greenwood. Now was their time to act.

The words from Curumil returned to his mind. There would be death and pain untold with the march to battle, but Thranduil again reminded himself that the fight would preserve their freedom. The choice to chose not to march would only led to Sauron's total control over them.

March, he had been told, for there was not a single person who was worth the shedding of tears for. The words and the message had been cold. The reason behind those words held such truth however. Their sacrifices would be worth the freedoms of their people. The lives of many superseded the lives of a few. He knew his father's stance and even understood the reason behind the sense of urgency, but still he feared the consequences.

Thranduil had also heard Gil-galad's plans, but he little believed that the High-King had all the answers. Both his father's and Gil-galad's plans had flaws and would lead to grief and heartache. He remembered his thoughts from so long ago, and he shuddered. The road to victory had to pass through the valley of death. He just wondered how many of their people would perish in this struggle. If only the two factions could work together, but compromise was not his father's style, and from what Thranduil remembered of the High-King, Gil-galad was hard to sway once his mind was set on an action. The two sides would never work together. There was simply nothing that he could do.

“This is all madness, Glorfindel.” Thranduil finally sighed, turning his gaze back to his friend. “But even in this madness, I can not defy my King. My place is to serve his will, just as you do for your king.”

Glorfindel could only shake his head. “Oropher's stubbornness will be his own downfall. You do not have to join him. Thranduil, please, you must find a way to dissuade him for the sake of your people!”

“Dissuade him? Please tell me Glorfindel, how am I to do this? He is resolved to never march under the command of Gil-galad, and he will lead his army as he thinks is best. The Greenwood is his to command alone, and no one else has a say in that. Not even I can stop what he has set in motion. The people are loyal to him and will not listen to me. And I am one of them. I will march under his command.”

“Do you even hear the words that you are saying? Thranduil, you must stop this madness.”

Thranduil snapped a little in his response to Glorfindel. “Do you believe that a divide within the Greenwood's forces will resolve anything? He may be my father, but Oropher is my King, and I have sworn an allegiance to him. No matter the plan, there will be death. War will come. What matters if it is tomorrow or week from now? In the end, death will find us all.”

Glorfindel could see the turmoil within Thranduil's eyes, and his heart broke for his friend. He knew the battle that Thranduil fought, having lived through times of strife where every decision that was made had been beyond difficult. He had lost his life before, sacrificing himself so that others could live. And now faced with the reality that was before them, he felt an anger and helplessness rise within him. Thranduil was right. The sacrifices that they had to make were necessary. The preservation of their people's freedoms mattered more than their own lives.

“I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean to bring more apprehension to the realities of our predicament. We are in this together, and I will still hope that before this day is over that reason will have won.”

“If not reason, at least an agreed upon solution.” Thranduil smiled. “Even if we attack tomorrow I will feel better if both Gil-galad and Oropher have reached an agreement to cooperate. I know my father will not follow Gil-galad's command, but if they fight side by side, I know that our might will overcome the vile of Sauron's forces.”

“I just hope that Oropher will listen to reason for once in his life and agree to wait at least one more day.”

Thranduil laughed in response and Glorfindel found himself laughing too, as they both gave into the exhaustion of their worry.

“I do not look to hope for such a resolution, my friend. But what ever has been decided in the end, please know that our aim aligns with yours. I will try to do what I can to try to persuade Oropher to see Gil-galad's reason.”

“I wish you luck, my friend.” Glorfindel rose, mirroring Thranduil's action.

A simple nod of understanding and of taking his leave came from Thranduil. Glorfindel watched him depart into the camp, before he turned his eyes back on that distant horizon where Mordor lay.

\----------

Back in the camp of the Noldor, it did not take Glorfindel long to learn of the outcome of the meeting between Oropher and Gil-galad. Elrond had invited him to his tent to dine with him and was discussing the details of what had transpired with him.

“Gil-galad believes that Oropher and the Silven armies will not go through with what they say.” Elrond explained between bites of his dinner.

“What do you mean? Does Gil-galad really think that Oropher bluffs?” Glorfindel stared at Elrond in disbelief.

“He does. After Oropher left, we debated in great length what his words really meant. Oropher understands the situation that we are in. Now that we know the true might of Sauron's forces, he understands that more time is needed for the final revision of our battle plans. Our preparations are not quite finalized and we make haste as best we can. Like Oropher, we agree that the time for wait has ended. But that time is just not yet.”

“Do we just let them march to the very Gates of Mordor alone, without our support?”

Elrond shook his head. “We will not march with them at all. How asinine would Oropher be to march the might of Greenwood and Lothlorien without the rest of the Alliance? It is pure and simple madness. Oropher will never do it. The point of Oropher's words today was just to assert his will into the action plans of Gil-galad. Our King has listened. In the end, Oropher achieved what he wanted which was a plan of quicker action. He does not need to march tomorrow.”

“He means what he says.” Glorfindel responded. “He will march out with his armies tomorrow.”

“No.” Elrond shook his head. “Oropher is bluffing to just speed along our strategies. Gil-galad agreed that we will act sooner than what we were planning to do. This was communicated with Oropher.”

“And what if they go? What do we do then?”

“Surely they would not.” Elrond put his glass down and looked into his friend's eyes. “Glorfindel, tell me that you do not truly believe Oropher's bluffs. Does his madness really know no end?”

“The Greenwood moves ever on its own accord.” Glorfindel responded, recalling Thranduil's words from years ago. He felt a sting in his heart and a panic rise in the pit of his stomach.

“I spoke with Thranduil today and I saw it in his eyes. The Greenwood will march to war tomorrow. This is no bluff. We must march too to reinforce our allies.” Glorfindel rushed out of Elrond's tent.

Elrond stood watching Glorfindel go before he followed along. Both entered into Gil-galad's tent. The High-King was eating his own dinner alone within his tent. His grey eye's looked up to them, sternly in his surprise.

“Glorfindel, you were missed at the conclusion of our meeting today. I was wondering when you would find yourself at my side to learn of what we had achieved today.”

“Gil-galad, you know that Oropher has vowed to march as an independent army. But even so, the Greenwood and Lothlorien are a part of this alliance and as such we should march with them to reinforce them.”

“Oropher will not march tomorrow.” Gil-galad stopped eating his dinner and rose, walking over to both Glorfindel and Elrond. “We delivered the news of the scouts to both Oropher and Amdir. Oropher knows the vast might that waits for us behind those gates. He understands that we must build up and reinforce our ramparts before we even attempt an assault. It would be folly for us to have no support to fall back behind in the event that the tide turns against us. I have everyone who possibly can working on this project as we speak, while our smithies are working non-stop on weaponry preparation. The last thing that I will do is send out my people to a battle that we are not tactically ready for just because the King of the Greenwood would play our hand before we are ready. If I send my troops to march at the crack of dawn like he is calling for, I can not guarantee a victory. That is something that I will never do.” Gil-galad grasped his hands into tight fists, annoyance and anger evident regarding the discussion of Oropher.

His deep and strong eyes gazed at Glorfindel as he studied the face of his general. Gil-galad could see the concern in Glorfindel's eyes, and he exhaled slowly before he began speaking again.

“I dare not encourage Oropher's armies to march tomorrow. If we show up to meet them in this madness, then surely they will march. But if we do not, they will not march without our support. Oropher has lived through wars and knows the art of strategy. Like a spoiled child he has made his point, and I have listened. I have agreed to move the day of our attack forward. But tomorrow is not that day. Oropher understands this.”

“No.” Glorfindel shook his head, demanding that Gil-galad reconsider his conclusion. “Oropher means what he says. If we do not support him, we must stop him!”

“Stop him?” Gil-galad's voice rose in ever more annoyance. “Oropher's and Amdir's armies are sovereign, and are theirs alone to command. Neither has pledged their support of my command. I can not impose my will on them. To do so would forever divide the Eldar, and that is something that I will not be responsible for. We can use this alliance to bring us together, and not to tear us further asunder.” Gil-galad stopped speaking, and he moved back to his dinner table to take a long drink from his wine goblet.

“Oropher's threats are empty Glorfindel. He knows that we will not go to war tomorrow. He has had his victory, for I have allowed his insanity to influence my strategy. That should be enough for him.”

“But what if the Silvan armies attack tomorrow. What then?” Glorfindel asked.

Gil-galad paused as he saw the genuine concern in Glorfindel's eyes that would not subside. “You truly believe that Oropher will lead his troops on the Black Gates tomorrow?” Gil-galad asked.

He watched as Glorfindel nodded. Sighing he responded. “If he does, then I have no choice but to send my troops to reinforce his. Everyone who is part of this alliance will do the same. But let us hope that it does not come to this, because there is not one army that is ready for battle tomorrow. Our enemy is giving us this precious time to fortify ourselves and to finalize what we need to do before we march on them. We should not give them the advantage of a disorganized and poorly planned assault.”

“This is all fine to say to me, for I agree with what you say. But Oropher does not. He will act tomorrow, my heart doubts this not.”

Glorfindel turned from Gil-galad, taking his leave without another word. Night had already settled on the plains, but the armies had not settled. Instead, they worked in a fevered rush, preparing themselves for the march on Mordor. Glorfindel watched his own troops who busied themselves with their preparations, and he understood that they needed more time. With angry eyes he looked to the camps of the Greenwood, wondering if Thranduil had been able to win his debate with his father. For the sake of the Greenwood, Glorfindel hoped with all of his heart that Thranduil had.

He would find out in the morning, when dawn would break. Until then, Glorfindel retreated back to his tent, where he hopped that slumber would find him.


	3. Is It Hopeless and Forlorn?

Gil-galad's worried gaze rested on Elrond, but he didn't immediately speak about what bothered him after Glorfindel had departed from his tent. Instead, he simply seated himself back at the table, and he pushed away from him his half eaten dinner plate. His hunger had left him, and his mind now flooded with his anger, and with a worry that he did not fully understand. Even though his mind told him that Oropher would not defy reason, still the disquiet of a growing foreboding apprehension could not be abated.

Gil-galad closed his eyes while he became lost in his thoughts. His thoughts festered and swelled within his mind, as he wondered about just what tomorrow would bring them. It was true that an army bred of pure hate, with only the desire to annihilate them all, was just within their grasps, and as such, they couldn't linger on the edges of inaction for much longer. But to attack before their preparations were complete would be asinine. Oropher understood this, he knew.

His face had hardened further; his annoyance with the insubordinate Oropher was almost more than his patience could handle. Once his anger could no longer be contained, Gil-galad broke the silence, and his intense eyes bore into Elrond.

“The last thing that we need is decent within our own ranks. A divided alliance only aids our advisory. Oropher is causing worry and confusion within our ranks. Can nothing stop his madness?”

Elrond knew that Gil-galad's question had only been rhetorical, and he didn't bother answering it.

He heard Gil-galad's fist pound hard against the table, emphasizing the emotions that drove him to question. He understood that it was simply a manifestation of Gil-galad's exasperation with this whole situation. Gil-galad had done everything that he could have done to reach out to Oropher. He had offered him his support and council, and had extended to him the invitation of joining with their planning. All that Oropher had returned was coldness, and his ever aloof and obstinate hatred. Their request for caution really was not so unreasonable. Although the captains of the alliance all agreed with an imminent attack, tomorrow just was not that time. Gil-galad's request for just a little caution was not unreasonable. It was beyond Elrond why Oropher acted the way in which he did.

Within his own mind, his trepidation pulsated, and he couldn't help but frown as he moved closer to his King. He seated himself across from him at the table, and he studied him intently, wondering silently what he would say or do about this situation.

Worry was etched upon the High-King's face, and his brow was furrowed, as if what weighed upon his mind had been manifested there. Even his proud stance and bearing were heavy-laden. His body language reflected all that came at them in these vile lands: the death they had already encountered, and the loss and strife, combined with the vile enmity that lay in waiting for them, just beyond the horizon in Mordor's keep.

Elrond wanted to reach out for him, and his heart ached for him. Despite all that Gil-galad had put him through, Elrond would always harbor the deepest of love for him. Those feelings washed through him, like the comforting waves of the gentle sea. Despite the wickedness around them, Elrond felt the tinge of his desires flicker within. Even though he had now pledged his heart to another, his love for Gil-galad could swell and twist, burning strongly within him some days, while other days, that love was almost forgotten. Elrond could tell that love was the last thing that was going through the King's mind. Instead his thoughts grew only darker, clouded with his annoyance towards Oropher.

Both he and Gil-galad were pulled from their thoughts when they saw that a sentry had pulled back the flap to the tent, and Círdan stepped within. His deep and ancient eyes fixated on them kindly, but he did not smile or utter a word of greeting. Instead he seated himself next to Gil-galad, and he poured himself a glass of wine.

“What news do you bring from the evening scouts?” Gil-galad asked, glad to have his mind move from the matters of Oropher, even if that other matter was still about this war.

“Yet another company of a great orc host marches to the hand of Sauron. They passed beyond our reach, and thus, made it to their master. Sauron's numbers grow, while we linger without increasing. They may have greater numbers, but victory will be had with our strategy.”

“And Oropher would want to undo what we have crafted so carefully.” Gil-galad could not forget his anger, and he moved the topic back on the one who made his blood boil this night.

Círdan didn't respond, and he only closed his eyes, as he was swept within the folds of his mind. Through this long pause of time, he meditated, and neither Gil-galad or Elrond stirred, both afraid to tear him from his thoughts.

“It has been through all the long years of my life that the shadows of future days has come to me. But here in this vile land, what the Valar have gifted me, can not break through this dread. I do not know what breaks at the dawn, let alone in those distant tomorrows.”

Círdan's eyes were dark, and the gentle star-light that shone from within their depths was void. He mirrored Gil-galad's worry, and despite his usual council, he had no answers to give to Gil-galad this night. Instead he poured more of the wine into his goblet, and he leaned back into his chair.

“Thranduil approaches.” He said between sips of his wine, and he said no more.

And then Thranduil entered into the tent, and his eyes reflected his own worry, and those gathered in the tent could see that a certain determination radiated from his fae. It was evident that he had come to beseech Gil-galad regarding his father's plans.

Gil-galad's eyes relented in their hardness when his gaze fell on Thranduil, but his face still reflected his worry. He motioned for Thranduil to come closer, and he smiled to him with kindness and with friendship.

“Thranduil? Why do you seek my council at this late hour?” Gil-galad asked, wondering why Thranduil now came to him. A spark of hope filtered through his mind, and he hoped to hear good news. “Is there additional information that I need to know from Oropher?”

Thranduil's eyes only reveled his worry, but he did not respond to the question that had been asked. Instead, he too sat at the table, and he accepted a goblet of wine that Círdan offered to him.

Gil-galad sighed at Thranduil's silence, and his eyes continued to convey the questions that were spinning within his mind. “What is this madness that has consumed your father, Thranduil? We spoke today, and I know he grows restless in this wait. We agreed to move our attack forward to appease him. However, it seems that this is not enough for him. Glorfindel is convinced that he will march to war tomorrow. Speak, and tell me truly what the Greenwood plans.”

“We march at the break of dawn.”

Gil-galad could hear all the emotion within Thranduil's voice. Anger and anxiousness flooded through his mind, but he kept his anger in check, for Thranduil was not the one responsible for this directive.

“I thought our discussion this day had stopped his absurdity.” Elrond said, voice shocked at Thranduil's revelation.

“Seemingly, for Oropher appeared receptive to what we said, and I thought that he was appeased enough to delay his ill-conceived plans of attack.” Círdan said. “But where were you, Thranduil? You did not care enough to guide his thoughts at our council this day.”

Thranduil's eyes, of frosty greens, regarded Círdan, before he responded to his question. “Do not confuse my absence with that of disregard. I know that the hour is late now, but it is not yet the dawn. There is still time enough for you to amend your plans, and join with us.”

“No.” Gil-galad said. “This goes against my command. Thranduil, I can not support this move. I will not have my army march with him in this reckless action!” Gil-galad's anger was paramount, and he pounded his fist on the table, emphasizing his ire, just like he had done earlier this night.

“My point was made to that fool, and yet he continues this bluff with me. His stubbornness will be his doom yet.” Gil-galad's eyes rested back on Thranduil, but he softened the tone of his voice, although the meaning of his words were still harsh.

“I too, cannot condone this course of action, Thranduil. Although the hour for battle draws near, it is not yet upon us. Having patience to wait for the right hour to strike will play to our advantage.” Círdan added, and his gaze conveyed that there would be no room for compromise.

“We will not join Oropher, and when he sees that it is just him alone, he will not march his people to the fields of battle. However, if I prepare my armies for tomorrow, he will go, and that is something that none of us are ready for. I will not entertain this folly, Thranduil.”

Thranduil regarded Gil-galad with narrowed eyes, his disbelief and anger manifested at the High-King's words. Gil-galad was just as stubborn as his father was. With Círdan as well disagreeing with his father's strategy, there was little that he could accomplish here. They simply would not listen to his plea of cooperation.

“There is little more to say then, it would seem.” Thranduil said, and he stood. “Soon a day of dread and terror will dawn, and even that of which you wish to delay will be upon us all. A dread malice comes for us, be it tomorrow or the next day. You now know without doubt what it is that my father will do. Use this information as you will. If your offer of friendship and alliance is true, you will not forsake those who fight with you, even if their path leads them to folly and their doom.”

With dejected eyes, Thranduil said his valediction to them, and he departed into the darkening night that had descended on the lands around Mordor.

Elrond watched Thranduil go, and he wanted to call him back, but he didn't, as he understood that there was nothing more that could be said about the dire situation that held them all within its grip. They stood on the cusp of yet another battle within this war, and come sooner or later, Elrond knew that death would find them. He was astute enough to understand that if they marched tomorrow, heavier would be the hand of death upon them. His only wish was for Oropher to stop this madness.

Again only silence filled the tent, and Elrond watched as both Gil-galad and Círdan sat in contemplation as they regarded Thranduil's words.

“Do I have the command to ready our troops for battle tomorrow?” Elrond broke the silence that hung like the heavy darkness that had settled on this land.

Silence returned to Gil-galad's tent, and it lingered for what seemed like an age. Elrond did not move, Círdan was lost in his own thoughts, and Gil-galad was even stiller than a statue. He had closed his eyes, and his face seemed as if it were carved from marble.

“No.” Gil-galad finally responded. “I will not give into the will of that madman.”

\--

Thranduil walked away from the camp of the Noldor with his anger and his despair crashing within his mind. He had never felt so helpless before, and had never had his warnings completely ignored before. He felt like everything had come crashing down around him. Reason could not penetrate to either his father, nor to Gil-galad, and he despaired at his inability to stop what had been set into motion.

He wasn't entirely sure what would happen if tomorrow they did march to battle. Perhaps his father was right, and the element of surprise would aid their victory. But perhaps Gil-galad was right, and their assault would only lead to ruinous failure. Perhaps it would be a sad mixture of both mindsets, and death beyond count would be the price of their victory. And maybe yet, no victory would come to them at all and there would be no more tomorrows for any of them. At any rate, they would have to make their choice, for no matter what they did, war would come to them once again. There was nothing to stop this war, for they would never bow to the whims of Sauron.

Fear gripped him, but it was not for fear of his own life. His heart ached for the souls of the Greenwood, and he feared for their safety and for their lives. His healer's heart wanted to shelter them from this coming storm, but his mind told him that their sacrifices were necessary for the good of the Greenwood.

He passed by his people now, who were busying themselves with the prep before the coming storm. They busied themselves with preparing their weapons and armor. The look of war was within their eyes, and their mannerisms displayed their excitement and the collective energy of their nervousness. They had no fear however, but only the determination to see their King's will be done and defeat the darkest of oppressors. They nodded at Thranduil in camaraderie, and he returned the gesture back, although he noted to hide the fear from them that crashed within his mind.

He knew his father's will would only lead to madness and to destruction, but he doubted that there was anything that he could do about it now. But the more he saw the Greenwood's people, who were numerous, but looked as the delicate leaves of an early spring, the more his heart cried with his rising distress. They may be his father's people, but as a prince of the forest, were they not also his to protect as well? With all his mounting frustration that crashed within his mind and heart, he burst within his father's tent, descending on Oropher with all the furry of his exasperation.

“Father, you must delay tomorrow! Do not push your army to greet this coming dawn of battle. It is folly, and to do so will mean that we march alone. Gil-galad will not give his command to fight at the break of dawn. We will fall in the darkness, alone.”

Oropher's cold eyes regarded Thranduil's words, and he glowered, his anger already manifesting. He stood from his chair, and he placed his hands on a wooden table. His fingernails dug into the wood.

“And what makes you think that I care what Gil-galad does? I have given my command,Thranduil, and late is this hour now in which you dare oppose me.”

Thranduil moved closer to Oropher, but the cold of his father's eyes made him stop. He stood at the other end of the table, and although he did not move closer, he matched and held his father's glare.

“We are the guardians of the Greenwood. We can not be reckless with the souls that we are bound to protect. Why not fight as one?”

“To deny the will of your Lord, will see you walking that fine line of treason. Do I have your loyalty, or do you break all oaths and bonds, and lose your honor?”

Oropher's cold eyes regarded Thranduil. Angry and irked, they reflected that his vindictiveness towards the Noldor would only lead him to ignore all calls of reason. This was solely about their place in the world, and to his father, that place was not under the command of Gil-galad. Thranduil understood that this plan was not so much about using the best strategy to defeat Sauron, but was only a statement regarding their sovereignty. It would be a costly one, and Thranduil knew that he needed to impede his father's plans.

He returned his father's cold and hard glare, matching it with equal fervor. He looked long into his father's eyes, and saw where once the spark of reason had been, was now void of anything but his grudges.

“Is it your will to fight alone, and needlessly risk the lives of your people, and the very victory that will save the Greenwood?”

“It is not the nature of Kings to answer to the questioning of their will. I asked you if you still pledge your loyalty to the Greenwood, Thranduil. I very much doubt it now, with what I hear from you. Nothing will dissuade me from what it is that I have to do. You disappoint me with your lack of understanding.”

“I speak of what will not leave my mind. I fear it is only death, and not victory that will great us on that horizon.”

Oropher pounded his fist onto the table, his full wrath stoked and roused now. “You approach treason Thranduil, and I will not tolerate that even from the likes of you! If you will not do my will, then I have no further use for you.”

Even with the outburst of his father's ire, Thranduil refused to back down. He simply couldn't, for the sake of their people. He needed to stop what had been set in motion.

“It is not treason for a captain to debate the matters of strategy in times of war.” Thranduil's eyes went wide at his father's words, but his face remained defiant, still showing that he would continue to challenge him.

Oropher moved closer to Thranduil until his face was just inches from his son now. His cold green eyes bore into Thranduil's eyes, as if he hoped that this alone would cause Thranduil to back down from the challenging of his will. But Thranduil remained silent, and he held his ground against his father, even as he used his full wrath to challenge and intimidate him.

Seeing that Thranduil would not recoil at this intimidation, Oropher sighed, his voice like a lament. But he did not break his stare. “I feel the west in you Thranduil. You are weak, and you have let yourself become clouded by the will of others. Go back to the Noldor, for you are lost to me. I would not recognize a captain, nor a son, who has fallen to his fear.”

Thranduil could hear just how serious his father was with his words. He knew that he meant what he said, because Thranduil had heard those words before. Oropher had said those words to another within his family. He could hear the subtle tinge of his father's heart breaking, even as his eyes glowered in their anger. Reveled deep within his father's cold eyes was the fear that he too would abandon him, just as his sister had done when she chosen to stay with the Noldor. Even though his mind cried out to defy Oropher, his heart just could not bear the thought of being torn asunder from him. Thranduil's heart broke for more than just one reason as he finally surrendered to this madness of his father.

“My King, forgive your humble servant.” He bowed his head, showing his true repentance for challenging his orders. “I follow your will alone, and will do as you command.”

Oropher's eyes diminished with his anger, and his face became more serene. He instantly accepted Thranduil's apology, and his heart settled, for his mind was once more at ease. Tenderly, he cupped Thranduil's face in a rare showing of his fatherly affection.

“We will not be alone in this fight, Thranduil.” He said before he moved his hand away from his son's face. He once again seated himself back on his chair, and he leaned back, showing just how relaxed and pleased he was with Thranduil now. “Once we lead the charge of attack, the armies of the alliance will join us, for their valor is strong. I have no doubt that they will follow us. They do not have to bow to Gil-galad's whims, just like we will never.”

“Other armies will join us in this attack?” Thranduil asked surprised.

“Yes, we do not fight alone, for there are many others who grow tired of these foolish masquerades of docilness. I have the pledges of other armies to join us. They will march with us, and together we will make a unified attack against the armies of evil.”

Thranduil took in his father's words, and he wondered. So it was more than just the Greenwood who would force Sauron's hand tomorrow. While his mind settled at hearing this news, still his heart beat with the cold dread of fear for tomorrow. He still wasn't so sure, but his choice had been made. He would not abandon his people in this dark hour. He was not of the west, but was now a son of the east. He was the Greenwood, and the fate of his father's people, would be his own fate.

“Now, my captain. Go ready yourself and your unit for the coming dawn. We march soon.”

  
\----

  
Ithil beat down on him, full and bright, it shone with a clarity that he had never witnessed before. There was no one around him, but he could hear the cries of voices that seemed to steam from desperation and from anguish. The cries turned to wailing, stronger they grew, but he still could not see from where they were coming. He wondered who it was who weeped their lamentations long into the night. Desperate and filled with anguish, the voices cried louder and louder.

He ran towards the sounds as quickly as he could, and his eyes scanned his surroundings, franticly looking for whomever made those horrid sounds. But he was all alone, within this strange night. The landscape remained eerily still, and now had become clouded over, under a never ending oppressive darkness. Still he pressed forward, and the voices grew louder and louder. The landscape around him was changing as well. Where once the hard ground of beaten down grasses had torn into his feet, now wet marshes tried to suck him down, and he trudged slowly through the swamps that spawned around him.

Ithil had now taken on a dark red hue, and figures as shadows moved around him in a death dance. Everyone was dead around him, and he was the lone survivor he knew, of a long and terrible battle. The faceless figures of monsters, gnarled and grotesque were hindering his moments, and he fought them, bringing them down, just so he could move forward.

He kept walking, not really sure where it was that he was going. He just followed the light of the moon that led him down a path. A cold chill blew over the lands, and it penetrated to his heart. Panic welled within him, and then he looked down to see a lifeless face of one he knew so well. Empty eyes stared up at him from beneath the water, and pale lips began to move.

“Glorfindel….” the dead called out his name.

Glorfindel awoke, with his heart beating rapidly. He hadn't remember falling into sleep this night, but he had, and he gasped for air as he tried to dispel the images that had flooded his dreams. That cold chill from his dream still settled on his body, for he clearly remembered Thranduil's words from years ago. He had dreamed the same dream that had came to Thranduil, and Glorfindel's heart froze.

It wasn't a dream, but it was a warning. Glorfindel understood this and he bolted from his tent for he needed to find Thranduil. He needed to stop him from marching with Oropher.

  
\------

Strangely peaceful, this late night that had settled on the land was starless, and was hidden under dark and stormy clouds. It was as if the wickedness of the land had tainted everything, even what should have been a serene night with a starlight sky. The dark mantles of the oppressive sky hung heavy, and even though it was dreary, it still held a certain beautify in its own strange way. No light from the stars could break through the clouds, and not even the crying winds could loosen the grip of the expansive clouds that rolled across the entire night sky.

Even though the night was dark and the wind blew with a strong vehemence, the encampments of the alliance lit no fires this night. A sort of silence had settled on most of the camp, eerily so, as if they were already lamenting for ones who would fall in this war. Yet in other parts of the camp, far from the ones that lay in slumber, a collective readiness was at hand, for soon they would march, and they were ready, even though they were paused in waiting for that command.

Thranduil took in the night and the landscape around him, and strangely within it, he could find reprieve from his worrisome thoughts. His heart had beat cold at the thought of his father's plans, but now he forced himself to think of other things, and the night sky allowed him to escape, if only but for awhile.

A still darkness had taken hold of the lands even as the night now began to turn to dawn, and the oppressiveness of its reach, only matched the dread of Thranduil's worry. Even though there was nothing he could do to change his father's mind, still a part of him wanted to continue pleading with Oropher. But there was nothing he could do. He had expressed his misgivings to Gil-galad and wondered what the alliance would do, if anything. Would they aid Oropher's assault or would they stick to their own plans, allowing the Silvan armies to march alone? He wondered if treachery could take the forms of both mindsets, and if spite could take on the face of both family and of friend. For such was it with the ones around him – the ones that formed this very alliance.

Stubbornness was a dangerous game, and Thranduil wondered if perhaps Gil-galad had decided to incorporate Oropher's insolence into their plans. Was it now perhaps a game of sacrifice, for that of the greater good? Was this all simply the acceptance to use those willing to sacrifice themselves to weaken the enemy, before they took their own charge? It certainly would spare the Noldor such heavy casualties, and the price would only be the blood of the Greenwood.  
No matter what he said, Thranduil knew that the Greenwood would be the pawns in this war yet, and they had been given this role so willingly by Oropher. Thranduil felt his stomach turn, while he thought more about the fate of his people.

There was nothing that Gil-galad could do to stop Oropher. This Thranduil knew. His father's armies were sovereign, and did not answer to Gil-galad. Blame was not to be made on the Noldor or even on Gil-galad. The blame alone fell on himself. He had failed to bring reason to the madness of Oropher. He was the one who had failed his people, when he had accepted his father's commands.

At any rate, their fates were theirs alone. A path had been taken, and Oropher would either lead them to victory, or to their death. And as Thranduil thought more about it, he concluded that it was death that would be the greeting that he would soon embrace.

He knew that his father's armies had been summoned, and were ready to march to battle. He had been tasked with leading a group of archers who would come from the south, while Amdir and his men would come from the north. His father would lead the rest of the armies straight to the Black Gates. He had pledged his loyalty to Oropher, and he would never break that oath, even if he did not agree with what it was that he had to do.

Thranduil paused his thoughts as he sensed the presence of another. The familiar fae was strong, and he could feel it pulsating with anger and with worry. That familiar fae could still cause his heart to pause in the beats of his long-forgotten love. But that time seemed like only a dream that he had walked in, so very long ago.

“What brings you to me on the edge of this dawn?” Thranduil did not turn to Glorfindel, as he spoke his words. His eyes stayed on the horizon, even though he wanted nothing more than to behold that beautiful face. But he did not want Glorfindel to see the dread that he knew reflected within his eyes.

“You could not persuade Oropher to delay his assault, could you?”

“My words were heard no more than were Gil-galad's warning. There is nothing that I can do, and I will not lead a rebellion against my father. I follow his command alone.”

“I see.” Glorfindel sighed, and his mind snapped with his anger over the whole situation. Oropher's madness could be stopped, but Thranduil seemed not to care to challenge it any more. Thranduil had descended into madness, just like Oropher had.

“Such folly.” Cried Glorfindel. “Does Oropher really wish to throw away the lives of his people? And for what?”

At these words, Thranduil finally turned his face to Glorfindel. Glorfindel could see just how much Thranduil had been fighting with himself, and with this whole situation. His eyes were glassed over, as if he were already dead. Upon his brow was the worry of his people, and his face was haunted, as if the dead already whispered to him from beyond.

“In the end we may all fall to the ruin of our enemy's hand, and this waiting on the precipice of war and death does us little good. I understand what drives him, and nothing can stop him. Not Gil-galad, or even I can. Oropher does not recognize anyone's command, and I have given him my oath. As his captain, so now I too will not heed any call for patience, or for caution.”

Thranduil closed his eyes, and he breathed deep as he tried to stifle all of the emotions that pulsated within his heart. Tears of anger and of frustration and dread threatened to fall, but he little wanted to show his weakness to Glorfindel.

“There are two courses to take now, action or in-action. Oropher has made his choice, and who can say if it really is the wrong choice?”

Thranduil opened his eyes to see that Glorfindel's eyes still glowered, and his mouth had turned to frown. Clearly Glorfindel did not like what it was that he was saying in response.

“This pause only strengthens our enemy, and causes the poison of fear to fester within our people's minds. This fear would weaken the resolve of our might. While I have the patience of the ages, my father does not. I must turn my trust to him, and not to myself, for I know nothing of war. I was only a healer before this call to war, Glorfindel. Who am I to challenge him?”

Glorfindel listed to Thranduil's words, but he did not respond. He could see the turmoil within Thranduil's eyes, and his words were laden with his anguish. Indeed, his whole body seemed to reflect the shadow of death, and Glorfindel's heart continued to break.

“My father has great faith in our might, and he has lived through many battles and knows the ways of war. As such, he does not need to follow Gil-galad's command. He has deemed this time right for attack, and I will see that his will be done.”

Thranduil knew that he did not believe his words, but he said them all the same. He wondered if Glorfindel could see through his farce, for his heart beat rapidly, and he knew that his eyes were as stormy as his mind was.

“Oropher is beyond reproach, but you Thranduil. You can turn away from this. Do not march your unit with him! Save yourself, and save them. I have dreamed that nightmare that came to you so many years ago. The Valar give their warning. You can not go!”

“No, Glorfindel. I must. Warning or not, the fate of the brave who march for him will also be my own fate. Go back Glorfindel, return to Gil-galad and let him know that death comes swiftly. Beseech him to amend his own plans, and ready his people for the battle that has now come.”

Glorfindel watched as Thranduil took his weapons and headed to the waiting armies of the Greenwood. Glorfindel followed him, and he passed by them. Many they were, and they were still and silent, lined in row after row and ready to follow the will of a madman.

“My King Oropher.” Thranduil approached his father, and the captains of the Greenwood forces. They were all assembled before the army of the Greenwood, and awaited Oropher's command to march.

“Is your unit ready, Thranduil?” Oropher asked. His intense eyes burned with the anticipation of the battle, but his face was placid as if the terrors that would soon meet them on the battlefield little impressed any worry upon his mind.

“Yes, my lord. They are ready, and we await your command to march.”

Oropher nodded, acknowledging Thranduil's words. He glared at Glorfindel, and with his eyes alone, ordered him to depart from their camp. But Glorfindel remained, eyes wide with his disapproval, and his mouth was pressed into a frown.

Oropher paid him no more mind, and he turned to address his people.

“Captains of the Greenwood, we stand before that turning point in the history of our people. This day we march to battle to ensure that we are free from the threats of those who would wish to oppress us. Be it the enemy of all Free People, or from enemies within, we of the Greenwood are our own sovereign people. Remember, we bow to no one! Not now, or ever will the will of others infringe upon our freedoms. Go forth to battle today, but do not fear what you may find there. Remember your noble honor of defending the Greenwood. Let the good of Arda give you the strength to overcome what you will meet on the fields of war this day. Today we preserve what is ours. Today we strike down that shadow. Onward to glorious victory!”

“Onward to glorious victory!” The army called after him.

Oropher stepped away from the other generals, and approached Thranduil. His hard eyes turned softer, his voice was low, and he spoke with words that only Thranduil was intended to hear.

“Be safe this day, my son, and let us meet soon on the fields of our victory.”

Thranduil looked onto his father's eyes, and he nodded. “May our victory reunite us soon.”

Even though he said those words, a coldness shot through his heart. The images from his dreams flooded within his mind, and he moved to lead his unit as if in the fog of dreams.

\--

Time was a crucial master who was marching against him, with each step that the Greenwood army took. Glorfindel ran as if it were his life that was on the line, and he made his way back to Gil-galad's command tent. The distance was long, since Oropher camped as far away as he could from the Noldor. Through the empty campsites of the Silvan armies he ran, and then through the camps of men and dwarves he dashed. Each precious second he spent running to Gil-galad, caused him to panic more and more about Thranduil's safety.

He knew that Oropher would never succeed without the full might of the alliance to back him. They would die, and their early assault would only hurt the overall chance of defeating Sauron. Despite the foolishness of this whole plan, Glorfindel knew that they now had no choice but to attack as well. There was simply no way that they could stand back and watch the Greenwood die.

Finally, in what seemed like the passing  of an age, Glorfindel could see Gil-galad's command tent just before him. He rushed into it, gasping for air, and his eyes went wide at what he saw. There within the tent, even at this early hour, as if they already knew that Oropher had indeed marched, were all of the commanders of the alliance.

“Oropher has led an attack with Admir. The Silvan armies march now to attack the Black Gate, and so too went the men of the Greenwood, for they look to Oropher for guidance.”

Gil-galad's face fell into anger, and alarm, and he narrowed his brows and eyes as he took the words in.

“The fool!” He growled. His voice reverberated with his shock, revealing that he truly had believed that Oropher had only been bluffing with them, just to prove a point. He had been so wrong about this, and his heart froze with its panic at this realization.

“Please, my King, do not let our Woodland brethren fall to their doom this day. Please, call the men to arms, and let us too fight this day!” Glorfindel cried, fully beseeching Gil-galad to take action.

Gil-galad took in Glorfindel's words, and he looked to Elendil and Durin, whose own faces showed their anger and worry. “Ready your men, for we too march to battle this day! Now forced with our hand, we have no choice but to reinforce them. Make haste, and we will meet on the fields of battle this day. We will assemble as quickly as we can, and we will follow as best we can the plans that we have laid out. The recklessness of this move will cause more blood to be spilled than what was necessary, but to allow the full annihilation of their armies, would only bring us to disaster.”

He then turned to Glorfindel. “Ready our forces Glorfindel, and do so with haste! And let us hope that what greets us on the fields is not a sorrow that we will never find reprieve from. To act now, lessens our chance of victory, but to not act at all would seal our certain doom.”

Gil-galad watched as his captain dashed from his tent to carry out his order. With just he and Elrond alone in the room, Gil-galad sighed aloud, and he was forced to sit down, for his heart had crashed into the pits of his stomach with all of his apprehension and fear. He cradled his head within his long hands, before he turned his gaze up to Elrond.

“So goeth a great host to their doom at the beckoning of a madman, and for what? What has Oropher really proven this day?”  



	4. A Futile Horn

**The Battle of Dagorlad S.A. 3434**

Oropher looked up to the waning moon. Cold it looked, as if it peered down on this land of vileness and poison without its mercy. He surveyed his troops one last time before he mounted his horse, and he led them through the treeless plains to march upon the gates of Sauron. He could feel the energy that moved through his people, surging as one great wave of anticipation. It pounded within his heart, and caused his mind to race. Although he doubted not that their victory was nigh, still he could not help but wonder just what would find them on the fields of battle this day.

Even though the lingering waves of doubt rose within his mind, he kept his head high, as to personify his confidence of his people's might. Their noble objective to protect the lives of their people back at home compelled him, fueling his fea with a determination that he had not felt since the sacks of Doriath, so long ago.

He couldn't help but close his eyes, as his mind returned to those horrid memories of yesteryear. He could see his kin slain dead all around him, and his heart ached as those bitter memories resurfaced from where he had buried them, deep within his heart. Never again would his home fall to the ruinous hands of outsiders. Never again would his heart break with the mourning of his loved ones. He would rather give his own life, than to have the sweet innocence of the Greenwood's people suffer and fall within the shadow of death and oppression. They would fight to protect the freedoms of the Greenwood. Their victory today would ensure that never again would the precious lives of those that he loved succumb to the disastrous will and madness of others.

Even though his determination to keep his people safe drove him towards the fields of their battle, Oropher couldn't help but feel a strange trepidation that he just could not dispel from his mind. It was a lingering disquiet, one that was just below the surface of his mind, threatening to explode and take hold of him. Thranduil's warnings, from years ago, began to echo throughout his mind, and Oropher began to fear, like he had never feared before in the long spawns of his life.

Although he and his captains had planned long and had thought diligently about their plan of attack today, their success balanced on a delicate thread. And Oropher knew that the battle today could easily crumble into chaos and ruin, if their strategy were to fail. There could be no deviation to the carefully constructed plans that he and Amdir had agreed upon, if victory they wanted.

And Oropher began to doubt his decision to diverge his factions into threes while they made their march. When they had decided to make this plan to fracture, it had seemed brilliant. Wider they would stretch, just beyond their enemy's peripheral field. Their enemy would not behold the full might that stretched before them, and they would fear once their true numbers were reveled.

While it was true that Oropher led a great host of people to battle this day, he knew that they alone could not withstand the full wrath of Sauron that would come for them. He needed Amdir's troops and Thranduil's troops to converge exactly with his units just before they reached the Black Gates, if any victory would come to find them this day. There could be no delay with the other troops. Together they had to launch their charge upon the Black Gate, and then into the pass of Cirith Gorgor.

Their scouts had relayed that the paths to their objective would be free of any obstacles that would impede their advancements to the Black Gates. As of late last night, there were no armies that lay in waiting, or ramparts that would challenge their march. But doubt still crept into Oropher's mind, and he worried that perhaps news of their attack had carried on the wings of the wind, and had made it back to Sauron. They would be in trouble, if that was the case, for it would delay the coordinated attack against Sauron's forces.

The warnings that had came from Gil-galad, and also from Thranduil, resounded within his mind, and Oropher frowned, even as he led his troops onward. He knew that Thranduil still feared that their strength could not withstand the forces of Sauron, and Oropher had to agree with that reasoning. For if their plans could not be properly articulated, as they so desperately needed them to be, they would fall in defeat. Still even a perfectly executed plan would result in the precious loss of lives. But such was the nature of war.

Oropher knew that the hand of death would find them today, for such was the sacrifices of those who fought to preserve the freedoms of others. He forced his mind to settle from the worry that was threatening to grip him, for his choice had already been made, and the armies who backed him already marched. Their sacrifices would be virtuous, and would be received back with the greatest of honor. But just how heavy would their sacrifices be this day, Oropher still wondered.

An anger now began to well within Oropher, and he let it grow as he mediated on it. His anger stemmed from the sacrifices that he knew his people would have to make to defeat their greatest enemy. There was nothing that he could do to save them all. And the more he thought of the sacrifices that they would have to make today, the more his anger swelled and grew, festering in the back of his mind. He would use his anger to aid him in his battle. Fury could strengthen his resolve, and it was to him that his people would look to once their enemy would be before them.

With haste he marched his troops forward, for the element of surprise was what Oropher wanted. The quicker they made it to the Black Gates, the better their chances were of taking the enemy unaware. Hasty preparations for battle would diminish the effectiveness of Sauron's armies, and would help his people gain their victory. So to were the orders of haste to Thranduil and Amdir, and Oropher smiled as he knew that they all descended quickly towards the Black Gates.

As they drew ever closer to the gates, the fields turned ever grayer, and grimmer. The land here was ever more desolate, signed as if by the very vile that seeped as poison from Sauron's hate and malice. Instead of brown grasses the rolled in the breezes like where they camped, here scorched and broken blades pocked up sporadically from the rocky ground, and the grey dust of ruin blew by them, coating their battle armor in its powdery film. It was as if a certain prelude to just what lay for them in waiting. For soon within they battle would both sides fall, and soon into the dust, would the dead be laid to rest.

Their march was long, and had thus far been unchallenged, but Oropher knew that they had not marched unseen. Sauron's scouts would have already put out the warning, and again doubt and worry threatened to rush into his mind once more. He wondered just how much the enemy knew, regarding their assault. Amdir marched to the north with his units, while Thranduil led his units from the south. Together they would diverge in great and mighty waves, just at those vile gates, where the armies of Sauron were surely already gathered and waiting for them.

Closer they were coming to where Cirith Gorgor lay, but they were not yet there. Oropher could see the great gates far off in the distance with the two towers of Mordor flanking both sides of the gate. And behind it, rose that mountain of fire and ash, where Sauron had forged that ring of doom. It was a grotesque landscape, of ruination and black rocks of dread. Fire and ash filled the sky, casting it into dark grays that stifled the rays of the sun. As they drew ever closer to those gates, the very air grew thick with a certain foulness, dry and heavy, and it caused them to choke a little, as it settled heavy in their lungs. The sky, once gray, had turned to a darker hue, as the sun could not break through the oppressive clouds that swirled above them. Black and spoiled with ash, the sky was ominous, and rolled as if to beckon them onward.

Still they marched with a steady pace, gaining ground on Cirith Gorgor, and Oropher let his eyes look to the north and to the south, where nothing stirred on both horizons. The armies of Amdir and Thranduil should have been there, rushing to join them, since his troops were coming closer to those Black Gates. Worry entered Oropher's mind again, but he kept his steadfast persona, for his captains all looked to him, as did his troops, who marched so valiantly behind him.

But before they could reach the gates, a mighty host of orcs, men, and other foul beasts stood before them, and was now within their sights. Oropher stopped his advancement, as he accessed what came into his vision, before he gave his command to his captains to ready their army for battle.

The forces of Sauron that were before them was more than Oropher had anticipated, and his heart froze for a second as he took the sight of them in. Wide they stretched in row after row, far beyond what his eyes could see and what his mind could comprehend. Orcs, and men, trolls and beasts, dwarves and wraiths, they all were assembled, ready to destroy them. Oropher's mind frantically accessed the situation that they were in, and his adrenaline kicked in, and he derived his course of action from their battle plans. He continued to call out his orders, and his troops readied themselves, and were now in their battle stances.

The numbers of their enemy were vast, this indeed was true. Oropher eyed them with a fear that he did not know could pierce through his entire being. He felt cold, and a piercing shudder gripped his heart, but he forced his courage and resolve to rise up once more. He knew that he couldn't falter, for his people all looked to him now, and would follow his every command. He would lead his troops to fight valiantly, and with great honor. But the truth of the matter was, they were greatly outnumbered, and Oropher knew that they could not win this battle without Amdir's and Thranduil's support.

Again, his eyes looked to the north, and he wondered when Amdir's troops would arrive. There on the horizon, where they should be coming from, nothing stirred, and he could hear no sounds of an approaching force. And to the south, where Thranduil would come with his flanks, there was no sign of their strength. They had been delayed by Sauron's forces, and Oropher wondered, if they would ever come to them this day.

Oropher felt his heart sink, even as he tried to keep his resolve. This is what he had wanted, and the time for battle was now. As far as his eyes could see before him, a great and mighty host rushed towards them, ready to annihilate them. Their thunderous approach echoed around them, and caused the ground to shake under the might of their numbers.

The time for battle was upon them, and Oropher raised his sword high into the air.

“Onward to glorious victory!” He cried his abbreviated battle rally, as he gave the command for their charge to battle.

Forward like a great and rolling wave that crashed upon the rocky shore, the might of the Greenwood rushed upon their advancing enemy, valiantly, and without fear, for they knew that failure was not an option this day. Arrows flew from both sides, and the sounds of metal clashing upon metal was a like a hundred thousand clangs that all crashed at once, that was deafening, as it was piercing.

Oropher led the charge, and he brought his horse to gallop, and with his sword, he slashed at the orcs who came at them, mighty with their enmity. Like a rising tide, the orcs washed upon them, in wave after wave, their assaults continued. The more orcs that he cut down, the more seemed to spring up in the place of those who had fallen. And Oropher wondered at what great sorcery could cause their enemy to multiply as they did, relentlessly, and with great vehemence, rising as if by some dark and terrible spell.

Oropher tried to press his troops forward, but it was evident that they could not hold their ground, let alone advance forward to the Black Gate. Their objective was dissolving with each soldier that fell, but still, Oropher kept his resolve. Even as he fought with a ferocity that was compelled by his fear of failure, Oropher's mighty sword could leave not even a dent on the hoards of Sauron that were closing in around them.

Even as their situation became more and more dire, still no signs of Amdir's or Thranduil's troops came to them, for it was evident that they were all alone in this fight. Even with the valiant men of the Greenwood who fought beside them, they simply could not beat down Sauron's forces. The men of the forest were even less equipped for battle than were the Greenwood troops, and their chieftain had long ago been slain in this battle. The men's courage and valor had faded, even though the Silvan elves kept their might as they fought.

An orcish blade cut into the side of his horse, and Oropher toppled off the wounded animal, falling on his back. Surprise hit him and the wind was knocked from him. He gasped, fighting for air, as he lay on the rocky ground that was now stained with blood. He lay there, gasping, unable to move, as he tried to process what was happening around him.

Around him was death and strife, and the vile armies, as great waves, rushing over his people, drowning them within their wraith and ruination. But there was little time for him to mourn the death that was all around him. His own life hung in a delicate balance, and he forced himself to rise, and he braced himself for the onslaught of orcs who came at him.

Two orcs rushed at him, and they growled out their war cries, and they swung their swords widely at him. Oropher avoided their swords, and he swung, slashing his sword into the closest orc to him. Back it fell, with a horrid cry that could not resonate to Oropher's ears, for his mind had blocked out everything. There was just too much screams of desperation and of determination all around him.

Orc after orc, Oropher cut down. His sweeping sword moved like a mighty wind, through the pressing hordes that would oppose him. Down fell his slain adversaries, but even more rushed at him, and ever back he had to move, for there was no breaking through their impermeable wall that continued to grow in its number of soldiers. Numberless they were, and unstoppable they seemed, and Oropher desperately fought Sauron's armies, as he tried to bring his people to their much desired victory.

And the waves of Sauron's armies continued, pushing them all further back. The Black Gate was far from their sights now, and Oropher doubted that they would ever be able to reach it. They were overwhelmed and he knew it, and there was no-one to reinforce them. Amdir's troops had not arrived, and neither had Thranduil's. Oropher knew that they couldn't come to their aid, for they too must be engaged in battles, far off in that horizon.

Far too many of his people were falling around him, and his heart froze when he looked into their lifeless faces. And he felt the ages roll away, and he could see the ruins of Doriath around him. He was back there, and that bitter blood flowed through his home. The beautiful eyes of his wife flashed before him, and then she too was dead. The pain of that failure burned again within his heart, and he almost fell to his knees.

Oropher blinked, and the fields of this day's death enclosed around him once more. Strong men were mixed amongst the orcs, and they all rushed at him, surrounding him. They circled around him, attacking with swords and hammers, and Oropher could only react, as he was unable to dictate the fight against so many who would have him dead. With each swing of their weapons at him, he was pushed back as he blocked, but he couldn't gain the upper hand to launch his own assault on his attackers.

One of his captains came to his side, and together they were able to cut down the attackers. Down they fell, but Oropher did not entertain the notion of hope. There was no hope for them here this day on this field. He knew that their situation was becoming hopeless, as he heard the cries of his people. They were dying all around him, and he had led him to their deaths. And with no alliance to reinforce them, they would all soon be swept within the waves of the vile hoards of Sauron. There would be no victory here, and his heart seemed to fall into the bottom of his stomach.

Fighting for his life, Oropher swung his sword with sweeping strokes. Wild and desperate he swung, and he blocked the gruesome metal that aimed to kill him. And when he had managed to take out the foes who fought him, more would appear, rushing at him with a strength that was unstoppable. He was unable to give his commands of attack, and was unable to rally his troops to fall back into a tighter unit. All he could do was react, and block, as he tried to make his way to his surviving captains.

Still he fought, even as the rocky ground was painted red and black, flowing with the blood of those who had fallen. And the bodies of his people spread all around him, interlaced with the grotesque forms of orcs and other foul beasts who were merged together in a death dance. The ashen sky was tinged with red, and the clouds rained down soot and dust. And the wind seemed to cry, as if it tried to stifle the lamentations of the desperate souls who fought on these fields of battle. But Oropher heard and saw these things not, for the relentless armies of Sauron gave him not a second of reprieve.

A sharp pain shot through his side, and Oropher lost his footing with his surprise, and he fell to the ground in agony. Above him eyes of pure hate bore down on him from a face covered behind a steel mask of gold. Oropher was able to roll away from a spear that came down by his head, but then a sharp pain pierced through his chest, and he gasped, as blood began spurting from his mouth.

He looked up to see the gleam of a sword, that was ready to strike him dead. And Oropher tried to move, but he couldn't, since that spear kept him pinned to the ground. He hadn't the strength to remove it, and all he could do was close his eyes, for he knew that the end was nigh. He had failed, and he had led his people to their doom. He waited for that death blow to come.

But the death blow never came, for his captain had once again saved him. Oropher could hear the sound of his sword block the blow that had been aimed for him. Above him, a fight commenced, but Oropher had not the strength to watch it, for his eyes could barely focus on the silhouettes of grey that fought around him.  
The attacker was struck dead, and his captain was now beside him. Words he spoke to Oropher, but he could not piece together what it was that he was saying to him. He could feel his hand be lifted, and a soothing warmth surrounded it. Unable to rise, Oropher could only remain laying, and he could feel his blood seep from his body, pooling beneath him and flowing around him.

His fae was diminishing, and a cold that he had never felt before began to wash over his body, paralyzing him with its slow movement as it consumed him. He could no longer feel that hand that held his own, and his captains face faded away. Oropher closed his eyes, for he knew that there was no salvation for him now. He was dying, and all around him, so were his people.

His thoughts, although hard to form, only moved to that of Thranduil. Somewhere, he was out there, fighting his own battle. Tears escaped his closed eyes, and with his dying breath, he uttered his final words.

“Valar, save him.”

\--

During their march to the Black Gates, Thranduil's unit had been ambushed. He had quickly led his people to assemble and they been successful in their scrimmage. However, he knew that this attack had only been to delay their advancement, and it had worked. Somehow Sauron had learned of what it was they had planned, and Thranduil worried. With the panic that pulsated through his mind, he led his troops to the fields before the Black Gates, as quickly as they could march, for their allies needed them.

And when they had finally arrived to the fields where the battle was being fought, Thranduil and his unit of archers had watched in horror as the rest of their army had been surrounded by the enemy. From their vantage, Thranduil could see the oppressive hordes of Sauron roll in like a great and violent wave over his brethren. His father was there, and Thranduil felt a coldness pierce his soul like he had never felt before.

Thranduil, in his panic, had led his units in with careless abandon, for the sake of his people. In their dire need there was no more use for strategy. Against the waves of Suaron's army they now began to fight, and his units unleashed upon them their own furry, for they had seen the annihilation of their people around them, and their deaths lay bitter upon their souls.

Thranduil had felt a sting in his heart and in his soul, even as he cut through the enemy. Although no blow had hit him, a pain like nothing that he had felt before tore open his heart, and he gasped, confused as to why his fae shuddered with such distress. Something profound had happened, and he felt dread like he had never felt before.

He let his eyes look around him, and he felt forsaken, and forlorn. Around him was an enemy as vast as the leaves in the Greenwood, and they poured forth from the lands of Cirith Gorgor. He could hear their thunderous advancements, and Thranduil knew that his soldiers could not withstand what came at them. But on he continued to lead his troops in this futile fight, for Thranduil refused to surrender his people to their doom. He would rather them all be slain upon these fields of strife, than hand them over to the will of Sauron, where he knew that their torments would know no end.

And as it all seemed to grow darker and hopeless, the sounds of Elendil's and Gil-galad's battle horns cried out in the distance behind them. A sort of still consumed those on the fields, and they froze, as if enchanted by the sonance of the horns. There on their horizon, the banners of the armies of the alliance blew within the wind. They were like the beacons of hope that the survivors of the Greenwood needed, and their horns were like the presage of doom to those who cleaved to Sauron. And then a thunderous advancement resounded all around them, as the armies of the full alliance descended upon the hordes of Sauron.

Thranduil watched as the clash of armies was like a force that he had never witnessed before. The men of Numenor were like a wave that flattened their enemy, and the armies of Sauron cowered in their fear, as they fell to the might of Elendil. And Gil-galad's soldiers rushed past Thranduil and his people, and their arrows and swords slew all in their path. Onward they pushed Sauron's forces back towards the gates and towards Cirith Gorgor.

It was Elendil who come to Thranduil, even as his army swept by them with their charge on the hordes of Sauron, who were still flowing down from the Black Gate. Elendil's eyes, although hard, softened when he took Thranduil in, sincerely pleased to see that he had survived their reckless assault this day.

“See to your people, Thranduil, for this battle is now in the hands of your allies. We will not let your people's bravery and sacrifices go for not.”

And Thranduil watched him press forward, as a great force of valor, as he and his men met and crushed the rolling waves of their enemy.

In the end, Sauron's hordes had been driven back in defeat, behind the great Black Gate that had closed to them. But this battle was not over, for Gil-galad and Elendil would not cede the ground that they had taken this day. To where Sauron's armies slithered to tend to their festering wounds, Thranduil did not care. The vast armies of Gil-galad and Elendil stood between what was left of his people, and that Black Gate where Sauron glowered in this day's defeat.

Thranduil stood on the field of their battle like a statue, frozen, and covered in the foul blood of his enemy, and in his own blood. The blood of his fallen brethren also burned upon his skin, and it seeped in, imprinting its stain upon his soul. The bitter stain of the blood was smeared everywhere, and the poignant smell should have been overwhelming, but Thranduil could perceive it not.

All around him were the dead, and those who were somewhere between the states of life and death. Those who survived, moved as if in a daze, while others moved with purpose, as they saw to the injured who lay upon the fields of their toils.

Thranduil could see his people calling to him, but their words were mute to his ears, and he could not comprehend what they were saying. There was no perception, and nothing could resonate to him. There was just death and the sight of flowing blood all around him. The earth cried of it, and the ground was covered in it, stained in a mix of red and black. Thranduil was use to blood and gore, having seen it often during his years as a healer. But this was overwhelming to the point that his mind could only block it out. It was as if what surrounded him couldn't breach to his perception. This simply could not be real.

One of his father's captains was now before him. He was bloody and his body was battered, but he managed to stand, and he called out his name, pulling his attention to him. Thranduil looked into the captain's face, and although his lips mouthed words, he heard them not. Instead his attention only focused on the captain's eyes. They transparently told Thranduil just how heavy death had hit them today.

It had hit too hard, and it was too much, Thranduil knew, for the evidence was all around him. Thranduil wanted to fall to his knees and weep the bitter tears of sorrow, but he remained standing, eyes desperately searching around him for signs of his father. Too few of their people stood, and there was a heavy weight upon his heart that would not still.

Cold his heart beat, and it was as if its beats echoed around him, as everything else was faded from his perception.

“The King…..”

Thranduil finally heard the captain's words, and his eyes snapped to attention, demanding to know what information that captain had regarding Oropher.

“What of King Oropher?” Thranduil's voice quivered, panic transparent. His heart froze, and his fae trembled.

“He has fallen this day. I tried to save him. Forgive me my prince, but I failed him.”

Thranduil heard the words which confirmed the feeling that had sunken into his heart. Oropher, his king and father, was dead. The image from his dreams that had haunted him for years flashed within his mind. He saw that lifeless face, eyes closed, soul lost to the holds of these lands, and he now understood that this was what he had been warned of. It was not of his death, but had been instead his father's. He had been warned from the Valar, so many years ago of this event, and yet, he had not been able to alter what had indeed come to pass.

It wasn't the captain that had failed this day. It was his failure, and his alone.

It was so evident, as he let his eyes scan the fields around him. His people were dead, and Sauron still lurked behind the shields of his armies. Although their loses had been heavy, still a great host cleaved close to the Dark Lord himself, who lay in waiting behind the black gates that they hadn't even breached.

And still a battle waged. There were still forces within the alliance that were fighting the armies of Sauron, far beyond them, as they were trying to make their way into Cirith Gorgor. Thranduil was grateful that they had arrived, for had they not, he doubted not that every last one of his people would be dead, including himself.

“He is being moved from these field, to our new encampment.” The captain said.

He could see that Thranduil slowly was processing his words, and he watched as his eyes glazed over, despite the unreadable facade that Thranduil now hid behind. His face neither showed anguish nor despair, but was emotionless, like the cold hard glass of indifference. His eyes which had once reflected all of his emotions, were now icy and hard, and reminded him of too much of Oropher. The captain shuddered a little, distressed to see that Thranduil reflected like Oropher now.

“Thranduil, come, return with me to our camp now. You are needed there, for that is where our people now gather to. There is no more fighting for us this day. We will need to look to you as our new king. There is nothing left for you to do this day on this field of death. Let our reinforcements continue this fight, while we see to our own wounds.”

Thranduil nodded, agreeing with the wounded captain. He moved through the fields of battle, as if in trance, and he followed alongside the captain, supporting him with his own body, when the captain stumbled in his walk.

His mind spun into a disarray of bitter fragments. He was surprised when the cold numbness that had gripped him earlier, began to boil into something that was something else. Intense resolve flooded through him, and a great worry for his people burned within his mind. Instead of falling into his own grief and heartache, he latched onto the idea that the Greenwood needed a leader, they needed direction. They needed a reason to continue to fight despite the destruction that had almost brought them to ruin this day.

Even though he had allowed them to follow Oropher into this disastrous battle, he knew that he was the one who would have to lead them forward. The people would not look to any other but himself. Thranduil's heart beat a little colder, as the realization began to dawn on him. The people of Greenwood would crown him as their king, and he would have to accept what was offered to him. To do any other would cause them fall into a chaos, and Thranduil loved his people too much to allow that to ever happen.

As they made their way through the field of death, another captain came to them, and he helped Thranduil support their fading comrade, who could barely support himself in their walk back.

The eyes of the newcomer, were laden with the sorrow of the day's events. He had a gash that ran along his face, and Thranduil could see that he had seen much horrors this day. Thranduil also knew that this captain had marched with Oropher's units this day, for he had led a group of archers that were to volley behind the foot soldiers.

“How many?” Thranduil's concern about his people escaped his lips, but he had to ask the question that he really did not want to know the answer to. “How many fell this day?”

The captain, whose face reflected his own pain with his understanding of what had happened this day regarding their losses, sighed before he responded. “That number is not yet known. My lieutenant is regrouping our people, and they make their way back to our camp. I fear that the dead is beyond what we can comprehend.”

Thranduil did not respond to what he knew was true. The evidence of this was all around him. Everywhere he turned, he could see the dead from the Greenwood. Intertwined in an embrace of death were the enemy and the fallen from the alliance – his own people. He scanned their faces as he walked, heart breaking and bleeding more and more as he recognized the faces of friends and colleagues. There were just too many who lay lifeless around him. How many had managed to survive, he wondered, if all that he saw around him were the dead?

The survivors of the battle were busying themselves by moving their fallen brethren from the battlefield. Soldiers and healers from the Greenwood were moving the wounded back to their encampment. And when Thranduil's eyes met their eyes, they relayed their happiness of their survival. It lit Thranduil's soul to see that some of the soldiers from the Greenwood had survived this ill-advised assault.

Thranduil's walk back to their new camp site was joined in flank by the other leaders of the Greenwood who had managed to survive the horrendous battle. But they were far too few, with many showing serious and grave injuries that Thranduil knew would turn fatal without proper care. His healer's eyes accessed them, and his heart bleed for the carnage that was all around him. His own captains from his unit fell into place by him, and they formed a haunted parade back to their campsite.

The Greenwood's new campsite, which was being built within the shadows of the Black Gates, was eerily empty, but moved with a frenzied energy as healers and support units tended to the wounded who were steadily trickling in. Everywhere that Thranduil looked, he could see the touch of death upon everything. Its cold sorrow painted itself on the faces of the dead, and on the living, and Thranduil could feel it paint its sorrows upon his soul.

Thranduil didn't pause to address those who had gathered outside their fallen King's tent. It was almost as if his eyes did not see them, or hear their words of condolences that they spoke to him. Many did not know if they would even find victory in this battle that they had waged today. Their eyes held questions, for which Thranduil knew he did not have the answers to just yet.

All he could do was take a deep breath, and he let his mind clear. He pulled back the folds of the tent that held his father, and he entered inside alone.

\--------

Glorfindel stood on the fields of what had been a great and terrible skirmish, and although they had pushed the armies of Sauron back behind their gates, Glorfindel knew that this battle was far from being over. Those armies would regroup and would attack again, trying to ensure that they would not break through the Black Gates and march into the pass of Cirith Gorgor. But the armies of the alliance would not concede what had been hard won this day.

Long had this day been, and long had the alliance fought the horrid armies of Sauron under a dark sky in the shadows of Sauron's gate. Even though the might of Sauron's armies had opposed them, led under the command of terrible generals, they had managed to push them back. But Sauron had not came during this battle, which had made this disastrous assault all the more bitter.

Glorfindel had led his unit to reinforce the Silvan-elves who fought before the Black Gate. By the time that he had reached the few who had survived, he could find neither Oropher nor Thranduil. He had let his eyes scan the fields of battle while he fought, but there was simply no sign of the one whom he still loved. With a determination that Glorfindel did not know that he possessed, he had fought with a fierceness that he hoped would lead him to Thranduil's side. But within the death and battle, Glorfindel could not find him.

Now that the battle was over, he left his far seeing eyes scan the area. There was no sign of any living Silvan elf around. It was just the dead that filled his sight, and as far as Glorfindel could tell, they numbered far too many. The fields had turned into a sea of dead, everywhere that Glorfindel had looked. His heart sank, and his mind reverberated with his worry for Thranduil.

“Glorfindel.”

He heard his name being called, and he turned to see Gil-galad approach him. The High-King's face was transparent, showing to him the emotions of sadness and of anger. He was covered in the black blood of the orcs, and he had a cut across his cheek that was still running down his face in blood.

“The hand of death struck too hard this day. But what makes it even more bitter was that this could have all been avoided.” Gil-galad said.

“Our units have pushed the enemy behind their gates, and it is there that they regroup. This battle is not yet over, although this day's fighting has. We will make camp in the shadows of the gate, and continue this fight, until we are able to break through to the pass of Cirith Gorgor. Let us not cede this precious ground that we have gained this day.”

Gil-galad looked around the waste that lay on the fields before the Black Gate. Too many of the alliance had fallen this day, and his heart lamented, and then turned to anger.

“That damned Oropher….”

Gil-galad growled, and he would have continued, but Elrond approached with a look of great sorrow written upon his face. His eyes revealed a deep and costly loss, and Gil-galad instantly stopped speaking, curious as to what news his herald now brought to him.

“I have ill tidings, my friends. King Oropher has fallen.”

“So he is dead, and Amdir is lost to us too.” Gil-galad sighed, anger now replaced with a mixture of frustration and of lamenting.

“And what of Thranduil? What have you heard?” Glorfindel interrupted, the panicked worry evident on his face and in his voice.

“I have heard nothing about Thranduil.” Elrond said. “All that I know is that he was commanding a unit who did not march alongside Oropher. But as for his fate, I am not certain.”

“Thranduil.” Glorfindel frantically looked around, and his heart beat with a worry, and with a dread sadness.

Oropher was dead, and many of the good souls from the Greenwood had been slain this day. His mind flashed back to happier times, when he had danced and feasted with these Silvan elves who lay around him on the fields of their victory. They had been so jovial, so welcoming, and their faes had shone with a collective goodness and with warmth. But now they were lifeless, still, and he said a silent prayer for their departed souls.

The stench of blood and of death made him feel dizzy. It was overwhelming, oppressive even, and it pulled him to a deep sorrow. His soul cried within, echoing in his mind, and lamentations were pulled forth from this heart. Oropher was dead, and he knew that Thranduil's dream had indeed come true. But what of Thranduil? Had he too fallen with the foresight of his dreams?

“I need to know about Thranduil.” Was all Glorfindel could say.

“Yes.” Gil-galad responded to Glorfindel's concern. “For we all need to know if Thranduil has survived, for if he has, he is now the King of Greenwood, and it is with him that we will need to engage with.”

He looked intently at Glorfindel before he continued. “Glorfindel, I need you to focus on the issue at hand. Commence the troops to form a siege, for our objective now is to take that gate. Although this day's fighting is over, this battle will not be over until we have broken through those gates, and make our march through Cirith Gorgor.”

He then turned to Elrond. “Have the support units clear the fallen from this battlefield. I do not want a single member of our alliance to rest beside our enemy. The dead will be shown dignity, even if we are in these accursed lands. When you have finished that, return to me in our new headquarters, for we will need to meet this night.”

Glorfindel saw to the duties he had been tasked with, but even as he assembled the might of the Eldar to make their parapets and to keep their watch on the gates, his mind lingered ever on Thranduil. After his tasks had been completed, Glorfindel handed over command to his relieving officer, and he hurried to Gil-galad's command tent. Hastily he entered in, and he joined the other commanders of the alliance.

All were there, except Thranduil.

“What have you heard about Thranduil?” Glorfindel asked, eyes scanning the room for an answer.

“Worry not.” Gil-galad replied.

“Thranduil lives and he has requested that we meet in the morning. The Greenwood is now tending to their dead, and are dealing with their sorrow. Thranduil has taken the lead of his people, but he gave no mention of his plans. We know not if they intend to fight on in this war, or if they now will take their leave. Their losses were many and were great. Over half of their army was killed this day, and of course King Oropher has fallen. As for Lorien, most has perished, along with King Amdir.”

Glorfindel could feel his heart explode with relief, as the weight of worry lifted from it. Thranduil was alive. His eyes brimmed with tears, caring not that he so openly displayed his emotions. But it was Gil-galad's words that once again pulled his mind from Thranduil.

“It has been a long and sorrowful day, wrought of dread emotion. Too many lives were lost to us today, and our enemy is not yet diminished. Let us take time to grieve with our brethren, this night, for we are unified with them. But soon, we will fight again, for now that we are camped in the shadow of the Black Gate, we must complete our objective.”


	5. In Another Lifetime

**The night after the Battle of Dagorlad**

 

Oropher's tent was void of any sounds or stirrings. Within it, just the lights of the candles flickered sporadically, casting their pale light onto the harsh and revealing truth of what was held within the tent. Oropher's lifeless body was laid atop a cot in the center of the tent, uncovered by any draping or sheets. His battle armor had not yet been removed, and the blood and grime of the day still covered him.

Thranduil’s gaze was fixated on his father. As heavy as his heart and mind was with seeing Oropher like this, his eyes just could not move from the horrendous site. And even as Thranduil continued to take the sight of his father in, the reality of what had happened still seemed as if a dream.

Breathing in deeply, as if to reconnect with reality, Thranduil could see where the enemies' swords had cleaved his father’s armor. There were many cuts on it, and the once proud and strong metal was bent and broken. Oropher's eyes were closed, lain lifeless across his battered and ashen face. Part of a spear still stuck out from his chest, and Thranduil guessed that must have been the mortal wound.

Thranduil feel to his knees as he finally succumbed to the sorrow and pain that was consuming him. But no tears fell from his eyes. Instead, Thranduil pieced together what tasks needed to be done to prepare his father for burial. He had sent away the healers, intent that it was he alone who prepared his father’s body for the burial. It was the last thing that he could do for Oropher. Even in death, Oropher was still his King, and the pain within Thranduil’s soul cried out his love for him. This task was for him alone.

Lifting himself, despite the numbness that wanted to paralyze him, Thranduil moved over to his father's body. Carefully and tenderly, he began removing the broken armor. Blood was everywhere, dried and coagulated on metal, cloth and flesh. In a trance, Thranduil dipped a cloth into a pitcher of water, and he began washing his father's body.

Time passed as if the world had stopped, and for Thranduil, it might as well have. Oropher, his father, his king, was dead. Countless souls had been lost this day, and still, Sauron was not defeated. A shadow had encroached into the Greenwood, and Thranduil doubted any salvation for them now. Words from years ago echoed within his mind. Sauron’s terror would rain down upon his people, his will a force that was beyond what they could stop. The road to victory had to pass through the valley of death. And it had this day, hitting them with a heavy hand.

Meticulously, and with care, Thranduil continued to clean his father’s body. Slowly the blood was washed from Oropher’s broken body, and Thranduil’s hands moved over the cold flesh gently, as if afraid that his touch would wake the dead. When his task was finished, Oropher lay under a white sheet, freed of the blood that had stained him.

Thranduil’s gaze lingered on Oropher. He looked peaceful in death. Gone was his domineering rule over his life. Gone was his harsh gaze, his criticisms, and his control. But also gone was his unique wisdom, his insight into life, his familiar presence, and his subtle love. And Thranduil felt a void like he had never felt before.

By now, night had settled on the lands, and Thranduil knew that whoever was left of the Greenwood's armies had returned to camp. It was almost as if he could feel their collective defeat, so bound were they in the throws of sorrow. He could no longer hide himself away. His people were leaderless and grieving. They had suffered terribly this day, but they were not yet defeated.

He needed to be amongst his people now. He bowed respectfully, one last time to Oropher, before he took a deep breath.

Thranduil pulled himself from the depths of his mind, and he left his father's tent. The faces that greeted him were far too few, but still, everyone that he acknowledged caused his heart to lift just a little. He knew the people expected him to speak but his mind could little formulate anything that would honor the dead and comfort the living.

The captains that were left from the Greenwood approached him, and Thranduil understood that business had to be discussed. He led the four captains to his own tent. Once inside they wasted little time with revealing to Thranduil the horrid details that they had learned.

“Almost two-thirds.” Thranduil repeated to himself. Even though he said the words and understood the meaning, the implications were almost impossible for him to comprehend.

“And Amdir with most of his army perished this day. They were cut off from any aid, and fell in the marshes.”

Thranduil lowered his head at hearing this, not caring that he showed grief and distress.

“Thranduil.” The most senior captain said. “You are now our king. We all look to you to lead us. You have our support and loyalty. Will we fight on, or do we withdraw our people from this fight? Our numbers are diminished, and I know this question comes soon to you. But we need to know.”

Thranduil closed his eyes, as the true implications of his current reality hit him. He was now the King of a people who were grieving, and who were looking for light within these dark times. The weight of authority had transferred to him and no-one else. His father's people, now his people, all looked to him to lead them through these times of war and beyond.

To Thranduil, the question to continue on in this war was of little debate. To return back to their forest home was a gamble that he little wanted to engage with. Diminished though they were, still great was their might and resolve. There were precious lives to protect from Sauron. The answer was simple to Thranduil. The Greenwood must honor Oropher’s will. The Greenwood would press on in this war.

“Our numbers may be diminished, but our might and resolve remains. Failure here means that all in the Greenwood will fall into shadow. That is Sauron's design. We must honor those who fought to preserve our freedoms. We will press on with this alliance, and we will win this war.”

Thranduil scanned the faces of the captains, and he could see that they understood his choice, even though he was not sure they all agreed with it. Sauron would not be beaten so easily. This day was testament to that. For any chance of success, they now needed to join with the alliance.

“For any chance of success we must work with the other armies of the alliance. We can not continue on in isolation.” Thranduil's tone was sharp, imposing his authority for the first time, indicating that his decision was not open to debate.

For their part, the generals nodded in their understanding of where Thranduil was coming from. But their eyes conveyed their concerns, mixed within their sorrow and worry. But still, they looked to Thranduil.

“We aim to achieve victory in this alliance.” The senior general stated. “There is merit in our cooperation, this I agree with. Your command will be our will, King Thranduil.”

Thranduil motioned for a herald to come. “Go to the High King Gil-galad and request a meeting with him tomorrow. Let him know that we will discuss our ongoing involvement with the alliance.”

After the messenger had left, Thranduil turned back to his captains.

“I will go to Gil-galad tomorrow, and will deliver our position to continue on with the alliance in this fight. I will also request a more direct involvement with the alliance. No longer will we work alone in ways that harm the goals of this alliance, or put our people in greater risk of harm. We owe it to our people both here, and in the Greenwood to use the best strategies to achieve our victory over Sauron.”

Thranduil sighed within, as a deep sadness engulfed him. It was a poignant and sudden realization of his own failures. He had been gifted with a warning of what the Greenwood’s stubbornness would lead them to, and he had failed to sway Oropher to cooperate with the alliance. The blood of his people and of his father would be forever stained on his soul, and he would never forget what had happened on those fields before the black gate. He would never repeat the failures of today as long as he lived.

“Please.” Thranduil turned to his senior captain. “The army of Amdir has been diminished. Go to those who have survived, and if any have the will to press on in this fight, send them to us. We will open our tents to our woodland brothers.”

“And what of our people?” A captain asked.

“I will address them tomorrow after I hold that meeting with Gil-galad. But for now, I will go and be amongst them. I need to do this for them.”

His eyes met the gaze of the captains, and they all nodded, agreeing with Thranduil’s plans. They moved out from his tent and into the camp, joining the grieving people of Greenwood.

For most of the night, Thranduil sat with his people. Grieving as one unified people, he listened to their songs and they mourned the dead together. But as the night wore on, Thranduil found himself alone sitting, still in his blood stained clothes that testified to the horrors of the day.

The events of the day were a blur to Thranduil. His father was dead, and he was now King of the Greenwood. The lives of what was left of his army were subject to the decisions that he would be making. It was painfully evident that the Greenwood had come to this war ill-prepared and ill-equipped. The blame fell on him, and his father. And still his people turned to him and trusted him to lead them.

Thranduil wondered if fighting on in this war was the best course of action. No one would think any less of the Greenwood if they were to pack up and return home to heal. But that course of action made little sense to Thranduil. No, he concluded. The only course of action was to keep on fighting.

He closed his eyes and he listened to a lament that came from the Greenwood’s camp. Thranduil heard the words from the lamenting songs, but they rolled through him without penetrating to his numbness. The king was dead. His father, Oropher was dead.

Where now were they to go? The war had not been won, and years still could come and go before the end would ever be seen. All that he wanted was to stay alone, and in silence but he was the king now. What he wanted would little be an option for him now.

This appointment of succession had been made on him from Oropher, who had announced it to the Greenwood before they marched to war. Should Oropher fall, it would be Thranduil that would succeed him as King of the Greenwood. His father's last command of him hung heavy over him now. The weight of the crown bore down on him, like the death of his people.

Thranduil walked the much smaller campsite of the Greenwood as his thoughts crashed within his mind. The night was a starless wonder that greeted him, for what faint light there was from the stars it seemed to disappear into the night's dark void. Absent of guiding lights and the emotions of trials, he walked a dark path through the depths of his mind, wondering, seeing, trying to feel. But nothing came to him except the emptiness of their losses this day. Death was all around him, but he didn't care to feel. Perhaps he could no longer. Still in his mind, and feeling defeated, Thranduil entered into his tent, ready to retreat for the night.

The voices of his people rose over the camp, as Thranduil began to remove his armor. The metal crashed into the rug in his tent. The sound was hollow, drowned out by the voices of the lamenting Greenwood. And Thranduil let the words of their song pierce through his perception, as he finally began to wash the blood from his body.

_"There was a king who walked beneath broad leaves, for he deeply loved his lands. Now the birds do cry, and the wind does grieve, For he's passed beyond our forest's hands._

_Where have you passed, o friend of tree? And what has kept you gone? For the leaves are broad, and do shine for thee, But now grievous is our song._

_The flowers bloom, and the trail does moss, and we search our eyes both far and wide. For there are whispers of a mournful loss, In this turning of the tide._

_Where is our king, who's marched to war? And what makes our forest weep? Do not say his gentle foot will walk no more, Under bright leaves in the forest deep._

_O king, our king, do come back home, And crown bright berries on your brow. Turn back from woeful lands where you now roam, For the forest to you forever bows._

_Bright does the moon shine on your ring, And so gentle do the stars weep. Where now do you walk, our beloved king, To leave us alone without your keep?_

_Our king has gone, now for him we mourn, And may our words forever of him sing. But we will rise, with strength reborn, For to another we now crown king."_

Thranduil lost himself within the song, while he wrapped a soft robe around his now clean body. So engrossed was he within the chiming voices that he didn't notice that Glorfindel had entered into his tent.

“Thranduil, my sympathy and condolences to you this night.” Glorfindel offered. “I weep for the Greenwood and for Lorien this night. But please know, that my heart does find solace knowing that you are still here with us.”

Thranduil turned on hearing that soothing voice, and he smiled as he let Glorfindel's familiar and calming presence ease his sorrow. “Thank you, my friend. I am glad that you have come to me this night.”

Their eyes locked with one another, and Thranduil could see the relief that was evident on Glorfindel’s face. They both had survived that terrible battle, where so many others had fallen. It was a bittersweet reunion, and both were glad, although both were hurting still with their grief. Glorfindel's presence, although unexpected, had stilled his mind, and even his heart seemed to beat with less ache.

Thranduil was grateful that Glorfindel had came to him. In all the sorrow and insanity of this terrible day, he had missed the soothing presence of the one who held a piece of his heart. It was his love for Glorfindel that moved through his heart, and because of this, Thranduil could genuinely feel some reprieve from the ache that threatened to tear his soul apart.

Glorfindel could see the subtle shift in Thranduil’s eyes. How the dark shadows within his eyes seemed less overbearing, and his eyes seemed to became just a little brighter. A longing stirred through Glorfindel’s soul for the one before him, and his heart ached for him.

“Come to me with your darkness, for the world is not yet broken. Let me bring you just a little comfort, as the world continues to break.”

Glorfindel watched as Thranduil regarded him curiously, and his eyes grew softer. Within them was a familiar light that Glorfindel knew so well. It stirred his heart, and almost forgotten, were the day’s sorrows.

“Once I would have found comfort in your arms and nothing in this world would have mattered to me but just that moment with you. But now, there can be no chance of solace in any reprieve that I take, for the blood of my father and people is on my hands. Why did I not disavow him more? For had I not submitted my will to him, but had fought him to the bitter end, then perhaps more lives of the Greenwood would have been spared.”

“No.” Glorfindel said. “You fought with him until the end, and what happened this day is not your guilt to take. I offer whatever you may need from me. You are not alone.”

Thranduil's gaze lingered on Glorfindel's eyes. The deep blue within their depths seemed lighter, as if to personify his care and love for Thranduil. To Thranduil, the gaze brought him back to happier times, to when Glorfindel had wound his shards of magic around his heart within the Greenwood, so many years ago. It was as if all the pain that had found them this day had simply melted away, and there they both were, wound within a moment in time that had once been.

“I had once told myself that I had buried the love I had for you away. And once I had thought that it had been forgotten. It is not the truth, for what burns in my heart has never been diminished.”

With a delicate touch, Glorfindel let his fingers brush against Thranduil’s face. He could feel Thranduil shutter, hear his breath gasp as he tried to stifle his emotions. A single tear escaped from Thranduil’s closed eyes, and Glorfindel wiped it away, tenderly, lovingly.

Their embrace was comforting, as each allowed the familiar touch of the other to penetrate to their souls. Both felt connected and an ease wound around them, even as the tears openly flowed from Thranduil’s eyes.

“I could not save him.” Thranduil choked out his words, finally giving into the grief that consumed him.

Glorfindel only held Thranduil tighter, rocking him within his soothing embrace.

“No, Thranduil. Do not let your mind go there.” Glorfindel did his best to lull Thranduil to peace.

Thranduil pulled away from Glorfindel’s embrace on hearing those words, and his green eyes locked with Glorfindel’s before he captured his lips in a delicate but passionate kiss. Without hesitation, Glorfindel returned the kiss with a hunger that he did not know that he still had within him for Thranduil.

It was a familiar, but forbidden dance that they now found themselves wound within. Clothes were discarded, and flesh that had once known each other was reunited. What once they had known so passionately, was a memory no longer, and was once again alive, and anew. Fingers and hands touched what they had only yearned for after so many years. Achingly and feverishly, the pace was like a made dash, as if both were afraid that if they didn’t seize this moment, then it would be torn away from them.

All the years that had seen them torn asunder, clinging only to the memories of their love, fueled their caresses and kisses. Both knew that they shouldn’t be doing this. Their love was forbidden, just as it always had been. But even though Thranduil’s vows echoed in his mind, his yearning for Glorfindel drove even that promise out of his heart.

It was Glorfindel he loved. It would always be Glorfindel.

And even as Glorfindel found himself deep within Thranduil, pounding into his tight and eager ass, his mind spun with the disbelief that this was happening. Had he not given up the thought of loving Thranduil so many years ago? But the wanton moans that came from Thranduil were maddening to him, pulling him closer and closer to orgasm.

Glorfindel continued thrusting into Thranduil, whose glorious heat set his member and his heart aflame. It was pure ecstasy that he felt, and both he and Thranduil cried out their release together.

Eyes locked with one another, and instead of words, gentle kisses were shared, that spoke exactly what both of their hearts felt. And together, they wound themselves within their arms, both ready for slumber, for the night had grown old, and the whispers of an uncertain dawn would soon be on them.


	6. Beauty Walks A Razor's Edge

Before the morning broke, Thranduil had awoken wrapped within Glorfindel’s comforting embrace. The years seemed to wash away, and he felt as if he was no longer on the fields of war, but was instead back within his father’s forest of Greenwood, where he had first made love to Glorfindel. He was relaxed, calm, and content, and the events of the present time did not make themselves known to his perception.

Here, in this deceptive now, it was only just Glorfindel, and nothing else matted or came into Thranduil’s mind. Thranduil was glad to indulge in this beautiful illusion, glad for the sweet reprieve that kept away his sorrows and his worries. He let his eyes linger on Glorfindel’s beautiful and ethereal features, which looked so peaceful despite the woeful times that they now found themselves in. The little light that illuminated the tent also spilled onto Glorfindel’s golden hair, which was dark, but still somehow seemed to flame in a splendid vibrancy. Thranduil couldn’t help but run his fingers through it, delighting in the stolen touches from the one he loved.

All too soon however, the predicament of his present situation flooded itself into Thranduil’s mind, like the awaking of the dawn’s sky into morning, and Thranduil knew that everything had changed. Life was not his to be lived in merriment or lost within the desires of his heart. His life instead belonged to the Greenwood, for he was now his people’s king. With the gravity of what was his current situation, his fingers let Glorfindel’s golden hair go, as that realization fully manifested itself to him.

Oropher was dead, and he was now the King of the Greenwood. His father had tried to tell him just how great of a burden the crown was, and even though Thranduil had heard his father’s words, he truly never believed that the duties of the kingship would ever be his to have. In his mind, Oropher was infinite, and would always be the force that drove the actions in his life. And as such, Thranduil had once very much believed that he would forever live under Oropher’s shadow until the breaking of the world. But this was not to be his fate, and Thranduil felt his heart ache with a pain that he had never felt before.

His heart beat with the sting of all that had transpired in this war. The events of yesterday resounded in his mind, and his soul felt the cold piercings of his people’s mournful laments. It wasn’t just his father who had died, but also countless and precious souls of the Greenwood had perished under such a senseless command. And he had been warned that this would happen, and yet, he couldn’t stop it. He knew that he had to be more cautious and even more smarter now. He had to a be a terrible force. He had to protect his people, no matter the cost.

Thranduil slipped away from within Glorfindel’s arms, carefully and without disturbing his sleep, for the break of dawn was still hours away, and Thranduil knew that sleep was precious in times of war. He looked back at the peaceful and slumbering Glorfindel, and despite the weariness that consumed his soul, he smiled, for Glorfindel could lift his spirit like nothing else ever could. In a hurried hush he dressed and stepped out into the dark and early day.

A heavy and cold moon hung over the still landscape. Deceptively serene it looked, even though the moon illuminated the rows and rows of tents of the armies, and the shadow of the Black Gate washed over them. But none of this penetrated to Thranduil’s perception, for his eyes lingered on that cold and distant moonlight that somehow managed to rain down to Arda through the ash and the fogs of war. To Thranduil, the light was very much akin to their own struggles, for they too battled to break through a darkness of their own.

Darkness. It was all around him, and it threatened to smother him and his people.

And Thranduil’s eyes now looked to the east, where the Black Gate stood as a sign of their enemy’s strength. To Thranduil’s eyes, it looked impregnable, and a fell doubt crept within his mind. This war was not over, and would not be for many years, Thranduil knew. And he pondered the decision that he had made about his people’s place in this world. But he knew that they had to keep on fighting, because Sauron still plotted against them, deep in his mountain of fire and ash. Sauron’s threat was still a far greater evil than was the treachery of the Noldor within Thranduil’s mind.

Oropher’s words of the sacrifices that they would have to make echoed within his mind. The sacrifices had indeed been many, and could have been avoided. Their allies had abandoned them, and had let them march alone. Thranduil little trusted Gil-galad and Elendil now, but to fight without them would only cause more harm to his people. Finally, after so many years, the words that his father had spoken to him indeed rang true. Oropher had told him that the only thing worse than marching to war with allies, was to march into war without them.*

Now that he was the king, it was his job to ensure that such recklessness with his people never occurred again. It would be in his people’s best interest to make those in the alliance hear his words, and this only could be achieved with working closer with them. The thought made Thranduil tremble within, for he felt weak, and as if he was already faltering with the weight of the crown.

Whatever he decided, the one thing that Thranduil knew was that he wouldn’t pull the Greenwood from this war. They had to keep on fighting, for he little wanted to chance his people’s sovereignty and their freedoms on the actions of the alliance.

\----

It was Oropher who was buried first. At the first light of dawn his body had been covered in a mound with an unexpected dignity that was surprising to find in these lands. Even though this was the last place that they wanted to bury their dead, they stuck to their customs of burial as soon as possible as a way to keep a sort of normalcy, even despite the surreal and horrid situation that they found themselves in.

Thranduil stood stoic, despite the emotion that almost seemed to be numb now within his heart, and beside him were the other leaders of the alliance who watched the short ceremony with grave faces, for their minds lamented all who had died. The survivors of the Greenwood made up the mound that would be Oropher’s resting place, here on the horrid fields just beyond the shadow of the Black Gate. A final lament sounded for the once King of Greenwood. And then the ceremony was over, for there were many to bury this day.

Thranduil knew that this place would never be the same again, for the land would forever whisper of the memory of his people and of his father who had fallen here. Indeed, all around them would the memory of the desperate souls resound throughout the ages. For even if into dust would their bodies diminish, the land would forever echo with the memory of their bravery and sacrifice. Thranduil’s heart and his blood ran cold, but he had little time to reflect on his dejection. The only solace that he could find was knowing that the faes of his people were now free from these vile lands.

As the morning grew closer to mid-day, it seemed even more dreadful than was the last day, even though not a sign of Sauron’s foul servants came to them. Still their guards kept their watchful vigil on the Black Gate that towered in the distance. But as if by some great mercy, the landscape stood still and the alliance was allowed to mourn in peace.

Glorfindel stayed by Thranduil’s side after Oropher’s funeral was over, even though his heart was torn in half because he was missing his own people’s burials. But the love that he had for Thranduil kept him bound by the new King’s side. Thranduil needed him now, and Glorfindel would not let him down.

But then Thranduil had sent him away because he needed to address the Greenwood. Glorfindel understood that the time they needed now was to be their own, without any outsider present. Although his heart ached with knowing that he and Thranduil’s places were still in far different worlds, he also knew that there was nothing he could to ever bridge their divide. His loyalties laid with Imladris, while Thranduil’s were to the Greenwood.

Thranduil had told him nothing about his continuing plans for his army in this alliance. Glorifndel wasn’t sure if they would go or stay. A subtle anxiety threatened to plant itself within Glorfindel’s mind, but he minded to suppress it. Though in his heart, Glorfindel felt that Thranduil would not abandon this fight, for he was astute enough to understand that they were greatly needed in this war and in their alliance.

He let his mind linger on memories of old, and of how Thranduil was so quick to agree on joining their alliance. He wondered now if the events of yesterday had tainted his heart and soul forever, and he feared a change in Thranduil. Indeed this morning he had seemed distant, cold even, but Glorfindel knew that he was in mourning and that he was simply overwhelmed with all that had transpired. They all needed time to grieve, but such time would not be given to them.

And Thranduil was the King of Greenwood now, and Glorfindel knew just how heavy crowns could be. He had known many Kings, and he knew that any stewardship over people was a mighty burden to bear. Without a doubt, Glorfindel vowed that he would be there for Thranduil, and would offer his support in whatever way that he could.

With a heart that was heavy and troubled, Glorfindel made his way back to his own people, for he knew that he needed to be amongst them now, for his absence would not go unnoticed.

\-------

After he had addressed his people regarding their continuance with the alliance, Thranduil made his way to Gil-galad’s command tent for the scheduled meeting he had requested. Each step that he took reverberated the reluctances he felt, the pain that pooled within his heart, and the dread that rose from deep within his soul. Although his people had gallantly accepted their continuing involvement in this war, and the decision to stay was now final, his father’s warnings still rang within his mind.

It was true that so much of the woes that gripped their lands had been brought on by the Noldor. Thranduil would never forget what had happened in Doriath, and then even more recently in Eregion. So much pain and strife could have been avoided, if not for some of the reckless actions that the Lords of the Noldor had made. He couldn’t deny that they had acted rashly, driven by their brash need for power and for knowledge. Even now, a mighty weapon that could destroy them all had been made, and only because of their lack of observation, and because of their willingness to be duped so easily by Sauron. It was the deception that Sauron had pulled over the Noldor that had enraged his father. It bothered Thranduil as well, and caused his mind to cry out with caution in regards to his dealings with them. And now he was so quick to wrap the fates of his people so closely with those that they had deliberately separated themselves from, and that had so willingly allowed them to march alone to the Black Gate.

Thranduil fully understood why Oropher had isolated himself from the Noldor, and he agreed now with his father’s decision that he had made, so many years ago. His mind sounded a warning, advising him not to cleave to the Noldor now. His generals still spoke of their caution, and Thranduil understood that it would be wise to heed their words. For the warning that he had given Gil-galad before his father had marched had only been ignored and tossed aside. Gil-galad had not cared to heed his warning, and had not cared enough to stop Oropher. It wasn’t until the hordes of Sauron’s armies had washed over them that Gil-galad and the alliance had cared to join them.

Thranduil had to mind to check his mounting anger, for he understood that anger would cause him to make terrible decisions. Within his mind, he now turned to the conclusion that the Noldor had forsaken them and had broken their promise of alliance, for they had once again shown their treachery. And he stopped in his walk, for he was almost ready to turn away from this alliance and march his people back to the Greenwood.

But to retreat from this fight wouldn’t guarantee his people’s safety. And to fight alone would only bring their ruin. No, they had to remain in this war, and they had to submit to the cooperation with the alliance. But this surrender of his people would only be temporary, and once Sauron was defeated, deep within the Greenwood would his people return.

He was now just outside Gil-galad’s command tent, and he saw that the guards who were stationed outside the tent regarded him with the honor of his new title. It was still foreign to him, and he had to stifle the emotions that swirled within his heart. Thranduil knew that the waiting commanders of the alliance would be gathered within, eager to hear his words. What the commanders did not know was how cooperative the Greenwood would be, and if they even meant to stay.

Thranduil closed his eyes and he took a deep breath, for he knew the words that he was about to deliver to Gil-galad would be the hardest words he would ever have to say.

The flap of the tent was opened up for him, and he entered in, where he instantly heard a hush fill the once noisy space, and he could see that all eyes were now on him alone. Thranduil scanned the tent, and his heart dropped a little when he saw that Glorfindel was not present at the meeting, for his soul craved the soothing presence of the one he loved. Thranduil could see that the others within the tent held compassion for him, for they mourned as allies with him for his people’s deaths. This subtle act caused Thranduil’s mind to hiss and his heart hardened more against those gathered in the room.

It was Gil-galad who approached him first, and his voice called out gently and with the offer of their ongoing friendship and alliance.

“Welcome, King Thranduil. Our meeting will commence now, for we eagerly await your words on the matter of your people’s role in this alliance.”

He motioned for Thranduil to take a seat within their circle, and he did. Thranduil took in all of the faces in the tent once more before he began to speak. There was no reason to delay the matter at hand, for he feared that he would change his mind. Despite the duality of his emotions, he knew that the Greenwood had to fight on in this war, and he repeated this fact within his mind.

Although he had already rehearsed what it was he was going to say, still his heart pulsated with a maddening cadence, and his mind was spinning. Even though he had conversed and engaged with those in the room countless times before with battle plans and strategy, now it felt so strange to be amongst them since it was he and not Oropher who led the Greenwood forces. The final decision on the Greenwood’s course of action would be his alone, and this fact bore heavy on his heart and mind.

“The Greenwood remains in this alliance.” Thranduil moved his eyes around the room, and he could see that his words, brief as they had been, were thus far what the commander’s had wanted to hear, for their eyes gleamed with approval and their faces were awash in relief.

“Much have my people suffered." Thranduil’s voice sounded detached, cold even as he continued. "But it would be a dishonor to those who have fallen for us to abandon this alliance. King Oropher, in his wisdom, knew that no peace would be kept in our lands if fight we did not. You still have what is left of our might to preserve our freedoms. We do not yet abandon our allies in this dark hour. The Greenwood will fight until the very last drop of our blood is spilled to ensure the victory over Sauron."

With those words already said, Thranduil inhaled sharply, before he delivered the last words that he now had to say.

“To ensure the outcome of our victory, I vow to work closer with this alliance. Greenwood will no longer march as an independent army, but instead will follow the plans that the alliance has set forth.”

He closed his eyes, as if the weight of the dead bore down on his head, for it was a far heavier crown than he could have ever imagined. But quickly and with a strained resolve, Thranduil's gaze was looking back at Gil-galad. "You will have the full cooperation of the Greenwood in this war."

His heart broke at the final submission of his people, but with their numbers so diminished, they could no longer march alone. The alliance had to defeat Sauron and the Ring of Power had to be destroyed. Those objectives could only be achieved if everyone within the alliance worked together as one. Differences had to be forgotten, at least for now, when this common objective overshadowed everything else.

Finally, he understood just why his father was so cautious in his dealings with those in this tent. The command and keep of precious souls was far heavier than any burden or weight that Thranduil had ever felt before, and relinquishing his complete control over his people was frightening and agonizing to him. It caused his soul to cry, and his heart ran cold.

‘Forgive me, father.’ Thranduil said within. ‘I hope I have done what is right.’

Elendil’s gaze, which had been hard and inscrutable, softened somewhat with Thranduil’s words, but his face remained serious and etched with the gravity of their situation. His voice held the tones of friendship and of a compassion, even despite the predicament that Oropher had put them all in with yesterday’s ill-advised assault. But to his credit, Elendil did not take his anger out on Thranduil, as all had agreed that moving forward, and not laying blame on the living, was the best approach at this point.

“King Thranduil.” Elendil said, pulling Thranduil’s eyes to him. “Your people’s bravery will never be forgotten and will be remembered as an important part for our victory. And ever do we thank you for keeping your honor to this alliance, for it is true that we are stronger with you. I still know that we can achieve our victory over Sauron. Together, with the Greenwood, we will fight on to our victory.”

Thranduil looked at the others within the room and he only just nodded, as he little cared to respond to Elendil’s words, for the pain in his heart would little subside.

“As much as we want to mourn and reflect on our loses, we must press forward now.” Elendil continued. “If the council of this alliance is in agreement, I would like to proceed with storming the Black Gate tomorrow. We need to take it down as soon as possible. The longer that it stands as a barricade between us and Sauron’s forces, the more it aids our enemy. We should not tarry our assault on the gate, but should act with great urgency now.”

“I too can agree with giving my armies the command to fight tomorrow.” Gil-galad responded, although the worry of their hasty assault echoed from the depths of his eyes. “For indeed the pressing urgency to continue with our assault should be our priority now. What has been started needs to be ended, and waiting at this point only aids Sauron. I do agree with acting on this urgent need, although I fear the cost will be heavy, but it is an action that we must press forward with.”

“Let us fight, for the might of the dwarves is not yet spent!” Durin said. “Let us finish what has been started, for I grow tired of living under the shadow of Sauron’s vile poison.”

All eyes turned to Thranduil and they waited for his statement on the Greenwood’s stance of their plans. Although Thranduil’s soul was little ready to fight, he had to agree that allowing Sauron to regroup his army was senseless. Knowing that he needed to answer, and answer quickly, he saw little reason to debate in regards of moving forward with their assault on the Black Gates.

“I also agree with the merit in attacking now. My army will be ready for battle tomorrow.”

“Then it is agreed.” Elendil stated, and his face grew ever more serious.

And for the rest of the evening, the leaders of the alliance worked out their plans for their assault on the Black Gate.

\- - - -

The meeting with the other commanders had lasted well into the evening, and then Thranduil had spent a good couple hours discussing the battle plans with his own generals. The Greenwood’s role in the battle tomorrow would only be to act as archers, unless their armies became over-ran, but Thranduil didn’t mind this role. He had promised his pledge of the Greenwood’s armies to the alliance, and he knew that there were no better archers in all the armies. Their battle plans were sound, and Thranduil doubted not that they would achieve victory.

Now that evening was old, and Ithil’s dull light tried to shine from behind the grey clouds in the ashen sky, Glorfindel came to him now, and for this, Thranduil was pleased.

“So we are soon to march to battle again.” Glorfindel said when he seated himself beside Thranduil.

His eyes looked tired, troubled, and Thranduil knew that he had spent the day mourning all who had fallen. This was very much Glorfindel, Thranduil thought, for never had he met someone so mighty, who was also so watchful and caring over all people that he loved. He was truly noble, glorious even.

“Indeed, for that is the agreement of the alliance.” Thranduil finally responded to Glorfindel’s words.

“Are your people ready for this Thranduil? Are you ready?” Glorfindel had to ask, even though he knew that in times of war, strength and resolve were essential, and that time for personal affairs was nonexistent. He doubted that Thranduil lacked the strength that was needed to carry on, and so soon, but all the same, he couldn’t help but worry greatly over the one he loved.

Thranduil only just nodded to Glorfindel, touched by his words and not at all insulted with how he was being spoken to. But when he saw that Glorfindel wanted an answer he finally responded.

“We are ready for tomorrow, worry not, Glorfindel. My people, although hurting, understand the objective and are resolved to press forward. Move your mind to other issues that should be of more concern to you.”

Thranduil wasn’t sure why he added that last line, and the tone came out with his ire and all of his grievances. It wasn’t fair to take his hurt and pain out on Glorfindel, but his mind felt ready to lash out, and he could little stop himself.

Glorfindel took the cold of the words in and his mind tried to turn over this different side of Thranduil. His eyes were distant and he imbued far too much of Oropher’s soul this night. He understood that Thranduil was grieving, but he little liked the change that had come over him just now.

“Do not let your grievances pull you to distrust or to coldness, Thranduil. There is no need to place blame. What is done, is done, and you must not dwell on your grief, or you will fall into the cold prison of your memories, and forever will your heart be haunted by those ghosts.”

Thranduil’s eyes, cold and weary, shot Glorfindel a warning, and Glorfindel had to stop his words. The look was unpleasant, and Thranduil’s eyes had lost the light of his blithe. A sharp pain ran through Glorfindel’s heart, for he understood that Thranduil was indeed changed this night. Glorfindel hoped that this change would not be forever.

“I will not hear such words this night, even from the likes of you Glorfindel.” Thranduil responded. Even the love that he felt for Glorfindel could little stiffen the rage that boiled within his mind.

And with his words, Thranduil stood, for he no longer cared to be in anyone’s company this night. Even the love and respect that he had for Glorfindel could not calm his aching and raging heart that cried out with the storm of his grief. Ever courteous, Thranduil bid Glorfindel goodnight, and he left him alone.

Glorfindel’s heart stung with Thranduil’s sudden departure, but he understood that he needed his space to heal and to grieve. He let Thranduil’s words fade away, for he understood that they were only spoken in his heartache and his agony. But still, Glorfindel felt a void envelope him, for he very much wanted to be by Thranduil’s side. It wasn’t pity that moved him, for he knew that Thranduil was too strong for anyone to pity him.

And Glorfindel understood that it was real and true love that caused his heart to yearn so greatly in this moment.

\----

“Are you lost within your nightmares?”

A voice so pure in its concern broke though the night, filtering to him as if on silver wings, freeing him the nightmares that had gripped him this night. The caring in the words and the soothing tone of the voice wound around him, and lured him from the dark shadows that lingered in his mind as he awoke.

“No, for I am here again once more, and not lost within the terrors of my dreams.”

And then gentle hands were on him, but he pushed them away.

“Elrond?” Gil-galad’s confused voice questioned him. “Can I no longer pull forth the love from your heart for me?”

Elrond sighed, and he sat up on his cot. “I can scarce recall a time that has left me so bitter, and in woe. Perhaps there has never been a time as bleak as this, for my mind just can not turn on anything that is other.”

Elrond stated, as his mind drifted back to all that they had lost in the last couple of days. Even though they had gained strategic ground, and were now ready to lay siege to the Black Gate, Oropher was dead and so was Amdir. They had lost so many in their alliance, and still Sauron was safe behind his still vast armies. The prices that they had to pay was far to great for their victory, and still the war was far from being over.

But what bothered Elrond the most about it all, had been Gil-galad’s actions with that of the Greenwood and Lorien. Thranduil had set all pride aside and had came to them at his darkest hour, pleading for Gil-galad to intercede and prevent the slaughter that had occurred. But Gil-galad would not be dissuaded from his own opinion of the matter, and as such, to Elrond, he had not fully honored his agreement of alliance.

With all the troubles that crashed within his mind, Elrond little wanted to engage in the matters of the heart, especially with the likes of Gil-galad, who only ever toyed with him, and used him to amuse whatever mood he was in. But deep within, Elrond knew that he still harbored a love for Gil-galad. It was as deep and true, as it was fruitless and annoying to him.

“This is true, Elrond. The war that we find ourselves in is terrible indeed, and reminds me of so many bitter memories of yesteryear. But what is frightening still, is that the one weapon that our enemy possesses, and that could keep us bound in darkness forever, still remains.”

Gil-galad paused with his words and his actions, and a sad frown covered his face before he stood and left the tent. Elrond sighed deeply, exhaling his frustrations with himself and at his resolve, before he too stood and joined Gil-galad just outside his tent.

Elrond looked at Gil-galad, and he knew that his despondent eyes searched the sky for any signs of the silver starlight that he loved so much. But there was none to be found, for the mantle of ash and of dust blanketed the clouds and the night sky was darker than Elrond had ever seen before. It was as if the very sky that they both looked upon reflected the evil that lurked just beyond where they camped, far off in Mount Doom.

Slowly Elrond turned his gaze from the sky and then back to Gil-galad. Gil-gald’s attention was solely on him and was no longer on the sky. His gaze lingered with an evident desire. Hungry even is what Elrond would call what was painted within Gil-galad's eyes. His heart beat with an odd and familiar anticipation, and suddenly Elrond felt his soul yearn with a want that he had tried so hard to stifle.

The want was there, the desires of old burned so vividly, and that familiar need caused his heart and his mind to ache. However, every time that Elrond gave into Gil-galad's advances, he felt as if a piece of his heart was being carved and ripped away. This was a dangerous game to play, but Elrond wanted nothing more than to surrender to it.

This wasn't love that he had with Gil-galad, and yet nothing tasted as good to Elrond than what little Gil-galad offered to him all through the years.

Even the full and selfless love that Celebrian gave him, her devotion, and her full affection could not come close to extinguishing the fires that burned so much for Gil-galad, even after all the years of his uncaring ways. But still, whenever Gil-galad's eyes would linger on him, Elrond could do no other than to rush into that aloof embrace of the one who infuriated him like no other. Elrond could scarcely understand how he could love and hate someone all at the same time. But such was it, for he was forever caught within an ambiguous loop with Gil-galad.

Elrond knew that he was nothing but Gil-galad's paramour, but he simply didn’t care. For this night it was he alone who had caught Gil-galad's gaze. For this night, it was he whom Gil-galad loved, and Elrond was happy to accept his king’s advances once more.

In a familiar dance, and with his eyes alone, Elrond invited Gil-galad back into his tent, where he surrendered to the hungry and rough touch of his king. Long had the days been in which Gil-galad had touched him with the gentleness of his love, but Elrond thought of this not. Instead he focused on the rough sensations that worked itself into his trousers, and had captured his length. He couldn’t help but moan aloud, as he enjoyed the fiery touch. And soon Gil-galad had commanded that he free both of them from their clothing, and Elrond was more than happy to comply. Commanding hands were back on him, and were now eagerly and hungrily working his passage. Even the kisses that Gil-galad placed on him was controlling and almost savage, revealing Gil-galad’s carnal lust this night.

Elrond closed his eyes as he knew that this was more about lust than it was about love. But this was all that Gil-galad would give him, and Elrond knew it, but in this moment, he little cared. Instead, he let himself be carried away on the lies of the thrusts that pounded into his passage, and the frantic hands that clawed at his chest, and twisted at his nipple.

He let himself be carried on the deceit of affection, so twisted in their years of their tiring dance. Gil-galad neither loved nor was indifferent to him, but instead cruelly lingered in this ambiguous charade that he found himself unable to break free from. But Elrond thought of this not as that sensitive spot, deep within, was being ponded, over and over, while Gil-galad’s lewd and licentious moans caused a sort of careless joy to rise within his heart.

It was both elating and distressing, for the emotions that wrapped themselves around him were ever vague and bittersweet, just as they had been for far too many years. Still this deceitful night that found him once again wrapped within Gil-galad’s tight embrace, could not erase the years of pain that Gil-galad had given him. And even as an unbelievably delicious pleasure pulsated through his body, Elrond’s mind lingered more on their long and problematic history. He couldn’t fool himself. This elation that he felt was nothing but a lie.

But even with all of his swirling thoughts and emotions, Elrond could feel the undeniable build and swell of his impending orgasm. Like a rush of a mighty wind, it rose from deep within his core, ripping through his soul, and it caused a fire to burn from within his numb heart. It was evident to Elrond that Gil-galad too was close to his own completion, for his thrusts were more wild, his moans rose even higher, louder, as his grunts mirrored the sound of his ballsack slapping against Elrond’s bottom.

Gil-galad’s hand finally grabbed Elrond’s heavy and leaking cock, and his brutal and masterful strokes caused Elrond’s eyes to roll back as he was finally swept away with his mounting orgasm. Rough and callused fingers swept across his slit and sensitive cock head, before they once again pumped his hard and aching length. It didn’t take long for Elrond to erupt in his orgasm under this brutal pace that Gil-galad set. His cries rang out, and as his voice echoed in the tent, Gil-galad too spilled his release, moaning out a rough gasp as he too rode his own orgasm.

Gil-galad pulled out of Elrond without a kiss or words of endearment. But this was typical, and Elrond only closed his eyes. The only sounds that filled the tent for what seemed an hour was Gil-galad’s heavy breathing, for it was evident that he was reveling in the intoxication of his release. Elrond scarce wanted to break this peaceful silence, so instead, he focused on relaxing his own breath while he listened to Gil-galad’s still pounding heart. It wasn’t like Gil-galad would say anything remotely affectionate to him, for he had long ago ceased to pretend that such feelings came from his heart. Elrond wasn’t even sure why he continued in these masquerades, but yet he did, because deep down he secretly knew that he enjoyed them very much.

Finally the stillness in the tent was broken when Gil-galad rose. Without any words to Elrond, he dressed and said his silent valediction. It was ever the same with Gil-galad, and Elrond only rolled onto his back as he let his eyes look up to the folds in the canvas that made up his tent. The dark shadows flickered in time with that of the candlelight, and Elrond could only close his eyes, for his mind was becoming far too consumed with the emotions that stormed through his soul.

But he had to stifle it all, for tomorrow they would once again engage in a terrible and important battle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: *The quote is from Sir Winston Churchill: “There is at least one thing worse than fighting with allies – And that is to fight without them.”
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> This story is not beta read, my apologies for all of the mistakes.
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	7. Blown Out On the Trail (Part 1)

**Taking of the Black Gate and the Pass of Udun, **S.A. 3434****

 

 The morning seemed slow to break, for even though Anor was rising in its ascent, the rays of the morning’s sunlight could scarcely cut through the thick haze of fire and ash that hung heavy over the lands of Mordor. A dry wind carried within its stream the dust and ruin from Mount Doom, and a heavy fog blanketed the land before the Black Gate. Within the crests of the wind that seemed to moan and cry with its own sort of misery, was the whisper of a great apprehension, and a fetid sense of peril that waited for them on the fields of their battle.

And even as the sunrise continued, still the morning remained bleak, and it was void of any light, and it seemed to stifle any hope. But even despite the fell mood that hung over the lands of Mordor, Thranduil gathered what still remained of his resolve and his strength. He couldn’t falter, nor could he let his heart fall to despair and regret. Today was far too an important of a day for him to be lost within his sorrows. Today he had to be a King, and that meant setting aside all apprehension and fear.

And suddenly Glorfindel’s words rang within Thranduil’s mind, resounding like an incantation that lifted his jaded heart. He couldn’t let his anger and his grief cause his heart to turn cold and fall into callousness. He had to preserve what good remained in him, saving his heart from turning to ash or hardening to stone. He had seen what this had done to his father, and Thranduil did not want the fate that Oropher had found to also come to find him.

Thranduil grew regretful when he remembered just how abrupt he had been with Glorfindel. His words had been harsh, and they had been far too bitter, for the words he had spoken had only meant to drive Glorfindel away. Glorfindel did not deserve his ire, for he was not to blame for all the sorrows that had came to find him and his people. If anything, he should have thanked Glorfindel for pleading to Gil-galad to march their troops to their aid, since he knew that it was Glorfindel who had called the alliance to fight that day. If not for his intervention, there would have been no salvation for his people on those fields of sorrow.

Overcome with his regret, Thranduil sighed, and he very much hated how he had acted towards the one he loved. But he couldn’t undue what had been done, and lingering in this state would do him little good. All that he could do was try to make things right again with Glorfindel, if Glorfindel would even let him.

He closed his eyes, and he forced into his mind the memories from yesteryear of Glorfindel and him from happier times. In that time, only the whisper of war had imprinted on their days with the taint of its foreboding, and he had been haunted only in his dreams with that of death and peril.

But now this war had changed everything, and it threatened to bring them all into ruination under Sauron’s domain. The regret in his heart stung with each beating, and he lamented for their solitude like he had never done before. But Thranduil had to tear his thoughts away from such dreadful obsessions. There was simply so much to focus on this day, and these tasks required his entire attention. As Greenwood’s leader, he simply was not granted such time for regret or for indulges.

With weary eyes, Thranduil turned his eyes to a table within his tent, and his gaze lingered on a map that displayed their battle strategy. Their strategy played in his mind, and as he reviewed it, a sort of calm stifled the beating of his heart. Various markers were placed upon the map, each representing an army from both factions. Despite the many markers, his eyes only rested on the marker that represented the Greenwood.

Here, in this tent, the markers were insignificant, but within Thranduil’s mind they resounded with every soul that was his to command and protect, for each marker represented priceless people who would look to him to deliver them from the same mistakes that had been made under Oropher’s command. There couldn’t be any doubt in his mind, for doubt would lead him to second guess their plans, and could cause such costly mistakes.

Thranduil hung his head, and he closed his eyes. He let his mind filter back to his home. Within his mind, the vivid splendor of the forest filled his entire perception, and willingly, he let himself be carried away within this illusory reprieve. Instead of the pungent smell of ash and death that permeated through the lands of Mordor, the serene aromas of the forest enticed his senses, and his mind become enthralled with the glorious splendor of the Greenwood. Upon his brow he could feel the gentle and moss infused breezes that rustled the leaves, and the calling of the birds delighted him. And his people were all there, and they greeted him with smiling faces, and peace was upon their brows. And then his mind flashed with Galion’s face, his wife’s face, and finally the face of his infant son….

Knowing that he could no longer be lost within the musings of his mind, Thranduil opened his eyes, and all the horrors of his present circumstances crashed into his mind. But instead of feeling forlorn, a new determination settled in his fae, and his heart no longer held any trepidation.

Defeat was not an option this day, or any day thereafter. If ever they wanted a lasting peace, he knew that the Ring of Power had to be destroyed. Even though he hated how close his people had to cleave to the Alliance now, there was simply nothing that he could do to free his people from Gil-galad now. For now they were fused as one, and as one they would be bound together as long as this war endured.

Again Thranduil’s eyes went to the map, and he reviewed their objective once more. Despite his lingering trepidation, he knew that the Alliance’s plans were sound, and he doubted that he could have derived anything better than this current strategy. But still, his heart would not let go of the disquiet of his misgivings, despite the sound logic of their plan. It was beyond him to suppress, and Thranduil cursed his weak emotions.

Now that the time for battle was drawing ever closer, Thranduil’s captains came to him, for he had called them one last time to review the battle plans before they led their people into battle. There could be no deviations to their plans, no dissent or insurrection. His captains understood Thranduil’s insistence, for they too little wanted death to strike them like it had done under Oropher’s command.

With intense eyes, Thranduil listened to his tactician recount their positioning, and he watched as his long finger traced the path of their advancements.

“It is a sound plan, Thranduil.” His strategist said, and his finger lingered on the lines that marked the Black Gate. Long his finger tarried on that spot, and his eyes reflected all of their loses that they had come to know on the fields before the gates. He paused in his speech, as it became apparent to all that his emotions had gripped him, and he was not able to free himself from the dark of his thoughts.

“The alliance believes that the assault will be great this day, for the scouts have relayed to us the numbers that have come to reinforce the gates. As you can see, you will be positioned here, and here.” Thranduil now spoke in place of the strategist, and his fingernail scrapped against the map where their people would be stationed.

“It is imperative that we do not become overwhelmed, for we can not cede our positioning. If we do, these factions located here, become more vulnerable and will be open to attack from above.” And Thranduil moved his finger to the map to illustrate visually what he described.

He saw that all his captains nodded to his words, and he could feel their strength grow stronger since they understood just how imperative the objective was this day. Although they would only be a supportive unit in this battle (for they would act as archers) they understood that they still carried a valuable and important role in this battle. It would be their job to take down those who would fire down on them from the gate, and the towers, and they would also shoot down what came for them from the sky.

This would also be the first time that they would march united with the alliance, and as such, they were not free to make their own deviations to this plan. Since they would be acting as archers, they had to put their own defense solely in the hands of Gil-galad's and Glorfindel's armies. It was a terrifying thought, and even though Thranduil had little trust in Gil-galad, with all of his heart he knew that Glorfindel would ensure that his army would not suffer.

Although Thranduil was a little hesitant to engage in battle so soon after their heavy losses, they all understood that they had to take that gate as soon as possible to ensure the chances of their victory of Sauron. Today would be a turning point in this war. And that battle would soon be on them.

“And once the Black Gate is taken, we fight through this pass, and then we fight our way to Barad-dur.” The strategist moved the Greenwood's marker to the spot on the map of their objective. It looked so easy on paper, but every eye that peered down on the map held a hint of uncertainty on their brows.

“So certain does our objective look on this map.” A captain said what everyone was thinking. “And yet, I am not so certain. Even though I know that the Gate can be breached, and that we can surpass what waits for us in Udun, still I can not help but worry that we may not reach our objective. Is it even possible to throw down Sauron’s stronghold?”

“In order for us to reach Barad-dur, we must execute the plan precisely, exactly as it was told.” Thranduil said, and his eyes relayed that no debate was to be had at this time. “Let us not worry about reaching the shadow of that tower, before we even take the Black-Gate.”

“Understood.” The captain responded. “I will not let uncertainty cloud my resolve.”

“Then so let it be done this day.” Thranduil said.

All of his captains nodded in their agreement, and it was evident that they would be mighty this day.

“Ready our people for battle.” Thranduil commanded, and he gave his blessing to his captains before they left to carry out his order.

\- - - -

Just before he was to give his command to march, Thranduil let his eyes scan the rows of his soldiers. Even though great their strength still was, his heart was instantly saddened. Before his eyes, the faces of the dead seemed to materialize before him, and his mind was haunted by them. It was the face of Oropher who haunted him the most, and the cold of his father’s eyes bore into him, silently deriding him for allowing the Greenwood to march under the command of Gil-galad.

And even as Thranduil tried to focus on the living, his mind could not turn from those that they had lost in this war. His soul was heavy laden with his fallen people, and it was a heavy load to carry. But what he carried in his heart and in his soul, he knew would only give rise to strength that he had never known before. He was certain now with his judgement, and the face of his father no longer condemned him in his mind.

Here they were again, at the breaking of the dawn, ready for another battle. Thranduil now had the strength to address his people. With all the valor that he had, he called on them to fight with bravery and with honor for the Greenwood, and he reminded them that they were part of this noble alliance. And he heard their collective voices rise in determination, and Thranduil understood just how valiant his people really were. It was true that the alliance needed them, and like it or not, Thranduil knew that they as well needed the alliance. It was the only way they could ever know peace once more.

Out from the camp, Thranduil led his troops and they took their place with the rest of the alliance, merging their numbers into the mighty force that challenged Sauron. They marched alongside the troops from Imladris, as if by design. Thranduil’s eyes met Glorfindel’s gaze, and he could feel the other’s fae flow through him with an assurance that they would met after their victory this day.

Their connection was becoming stronger, dearer, and it felt to Thranduil like the beginnings of a binding. And as Glorfindel’s comforting presence washed through him, Thranduil’s own spirit soared, and he felt indebted to Glorfindel, for his mind was flooded with his might, and it caused his own resolve to strengthen.

With haste and an unbreakable resolve, the Alliance advanced to the Black Gate, quickening their march to bring the hour of battle ever closer. Already, the armies under Isildur’s command were keeping watch at the Black Gates, and thus far, not a sound of warning or alarm had been sounded by their heralds.

It seemed, behind the Black Gate, a deceptive stillness lingered, but the alliance knew it was nothing but deceit. Their scouts had already confirmed that their enemy had been hastily assembling, readying themselves for the assault that was soon to come. The Black Gate was heavily guarded, fortified behind a velum of enmity and of a dread might. And despite the uncanny stillness, every soldier knew that a numberless army waited to destroy them, and would soon unleash upon them all their fury and madness.

Here before the gate, they merged with Isildur’s armies, fortifying them for this battle. Fires were burning before them, and stench of decay was so heavy here that it chocked them and burned within their lungs. Hanging from the gates, their eyes could see soldiers from the alliance who had been captured, and they were stripped bare. Torture was on their skin, their eyes were gouged out, and their bodies were broken and were pierced with arrows. But what was meant to intimidate the alliance only caused them to grow more determined to destroy Sauron for good.

Looking away from the macabre that hung from the gate, Thranduil gave his command for his people to take their places. Their far-seeing eyes guarded the skies, and they also watched the towers and gate, for they were ever on the lookout for what would come for them from above. They were ready to fire, and awaited Thranduil’s command.

And then Gil-galad’s voice called out to the alliance, and his words were like the winds of summer, and were like a raging fire, for they were strong and burned with his fearlessness and determination, and they imbued his strength and resolve into them all. But even before the last of Gil-galad’s words had faded, a wave of arrows rained down on them from the gate, and the alliance raised their shields, fending off the barrage that was meant to bring them down.

Between the firing from their enemy, Thranduil gave his command for his own people to launch their volleys at the gates, while the alliance moved their breaching towers towards the fortification. Behind the advancing towers, catapults launched arsenal at the gate with terrible force, hoping to bring down that fortification. The battle was now in full swing, and the alliance commenced their assault exactly as the commanders had directed.

The forces of Sauron answered each tactic with their own defense, for they were led by the command of the Witch-King, whose shadow infused his soldiers with Sauron’s dark energy and the craft of his cunning. Even though he was not present in this battle, his cunning matched that of Gil-galad and Erendil. And his energy seemed to echo from above, even though he had not set foot on the field this day.

Heavy rocks from the Black Gate and towers were launched at the alliance, crushing many. And arrows and fire continued to rain down on them, covering them with a blanket of death and hurt. The breaching towers were set on fire, and beasts of flight dropped rocks and metals on the catapults. The alliance shot to bring them down, and they worked quickly to extinguish the fires.

Then the gates were opened just enough to allow Sauron’s terrible force to pour out like a wicked and fell stream over the alliance. The clash of swords, spears and shields collided, echoing as an endless thunder, while arrows were exchanged from both factions.

Thranduil and his captains continued the command for their people to bring down the archers on the towers and the beasts in the air. Their aim was accurate and deadly, but a never ending stream of archers replaced those who they shot down. And this repeated, as if by some sinister source, and by design of Sauron’s dark magic alone.

Hour after hour the battle ensued, and many on both sides had fallen. But the strength of the Alliance could not be broken this day, and as the day turned to nightfall, a sort of hope began to swell within their ranks. Although the grey of the sky remained the same ominous hue, and the rain of fire and ash did not cede, somehow the oppressive shadow of Mordor seemed to grow less. And when it seemed like the alliance had finally gained the upper hand and could take the gate, the Witch-King himself emerged on the fields of their battle.

Like a mighty force, wrought with dread and with relentless ruination, the Witch-King unleashed wave after wave of his dread magic. His black-breath washed over the lesser soldiers in the alliance, and they fell and moved no more, trapped in their death-sleep. The Witch-King was an unstoppable force, wielding around him a landscape of death and fear, and the earth turned fetid and cursed wherever his foot did land.

And even as the land grew darker and the fires diminished, Gil-galad’s orders rose from above the chaos, and a line of the mightiest Eldar became a barrier to the onslaught of the Witch-King’s fell spells. For it was fear that the Witch-King drew his strength upon, and the strong of the Eldar did not fear him.

Seeing that the strength of the Eldar could withstand even the darkest of his spells, the Witch-King had no choice but to order reinforcements to this battle, and his sword came down, and with it, the gates were opened once more, and a fresh host of Sauron’s forces came pouring out. Numerous they were, and they threatened to overwhelm the alliance. But Elendil was quick to regroup his armies and the command of Gil-galad as well valiantly met them.

And so did it take them all of the night to cut down what had came for them, but even these forces proved not to be overwhelming to them, and once again the Black Gate was almost theirs to take. But the Witch-King would not allow this, and despite his reluctance to fight, he once again emerged on the fields of their battle.

Once again he unleashed a wave of the black-breath and many soldiers succumbed to it. A sense of fear and dread washed over the lesser soldiers of the alliance, and they recoiled in fear. And the fell magic from the Witch-King seemed to bring the fires that they had set around them to extinguish, for it was in the dark that his powers increased. And indeed, a dread darkness had descended on them.

Gil-galad called on the troops to keep the fires burning, for he would not let the dark of the night be used for the tactics of the Witch-King’s powers. And again he called forth the might of the Eldar to stand between the Nazgul and the armies that could not withstand them.

Glorfindel heard the cries and he saw the soldiers from the alliance fall without any abatement. He knew that he had to intercede against the Witch-King, and he cut his way through the enemy who were of little resistance to his might. Closer he moved to the Witch-King, and his sword blocked his blow, preventing the wraith from delivering a death blow to one of the dwarves.

Even as his sword parried with the Witch-King’s sword, a shrill piercing cry rippled before the Black Gate, and a sort of hush and still consumed those in battle, as if all eyes were solely on Glorfindel and his opponent. The shrill voice of the Witch-King caused Glorfindel’s head to feel pain beyond what he could withstand, but he quickly dispelled what was meant to disarm him, for he could not back down or recoil before the terrible one before him.

And then laughter came forth from the Witch-King, and Glorfindel met his faceless terror, and he looked into his red fire that blazed in place of eyes. Instead of blanching in intimidation, Glorfindel only smirked back at the one whom Sauron had wrought from his dark magic, and had twisted and maligned with his terrible hate and torment. He did not fear the Witch-King, for he had lived in Aman, and so he lived at once within both worlds, and against the Nazgul, Glorfindel had great powers.

But before him now came eight others, and instead of just one, it was nine who oppressed him. Against them all, Glorfindel knew he could not withstand them, but then beside him came Gil-galad and Cirdan, for he was not alone in this challenge.

“Fools.” The Witch-King mocked them even as his power abated. “Do you not recoil when you see your death before you? Know that is what I am, and now is the hour of your demise.”

Even as he said his words, the Witch-King saw that Glorfindel was not intimidated, nor did he back down. Gil-galad and Cirdan began to drive back the other Nazgul, and the Witch-King’s entire attention was solely on Glorfindel.

And then his sword rained down on Glorfindel as fire, and the heat of the flames almost consumed him, but Glorfindel’s resolve could not be diminished, for he had blocked that blow, if only just barely, but his death had not been delivered. He freed himself from the Witch-King’s binding, and the scrapping of the blades rang out. Both moved in anticipation of the other, until the wraith lunged at him once more.

With a speed that Glorfindel had never faced before (for Sauron’s dark magic fueled him) Glorfindel had little time to react to the Witch-King’s deadly swings. And his sword came at him with a terrible force, relentlessly, as if compelled through the incantations of Sauron’s magic alone. Instead of dictating the fight, Glorfindel could only block what was meant to kill him, but even in this time of reaction, he slowly began to gauge his formidable enemy.

With equal strength, Glorfindel began to match his adversary, swing for swing, block for block, and in their sound strategy. Neither could gain the advantage or claim dominance over the other, and their fight continued on. It seemed that it was just them and everything else faded away, for they were so entwined in their fight. 

Their fight seemed almost a dance, for they were in contestant motion together, and their movements seemed effortless and terrible. Glorfindel eluded swings that were deceptive and vehement, and each one grew deadlier and more powerful than the prior one had been. And so too did the Witch-King dodge and evade, for Glorfindel’s sword, although deadly, could not find or land a decisive blow to him.

Knowing that his failure with the Witch-King could be the end to the alliance, a determination rose from within Glorfindel. All around him, his allies were falling, injured, dying. And somewhere out there Thranduil too was fighting. He couldn’t fall to the Witch-King this day. He had to repeal him back. Focusing even more on his might, Glorfindel could feel his fae grow stronger, and he attacked with a new found vengeance. 

The Witch-King could sense this change in Glorfindel, and he could no longer dictate the fight. The Witch-King was now on the defensive, and Glorfindel began to drive him back towards the gates. 

Where the Witch-King had dark magic, Glorfindel had his own powers that had been granted to him from the Maiar, and for the first time since he had been granted them, he called them forth, invoking those graces. He could feel his fae grow both terrible and invincible, and not even the Witch-King could continue to withstand him.

The forces of Sauron, and even the Witch-King recoiled in fear from Glorfindel, for they backed away as if he were indeed a Maia. Even those within the alliance looked upon him with awe and with added respect. But the Witch-King gathered what resolve he had, despite his disadvantage, and he only mocked Glorfindel further.

“To the houses of lamentations shall I bear you fool, for death would only be a mercy to you now. And I shall not grant even that fate to you. Instead, you shall languish without reprieve, in ruin and under the misery of my master.”

The Witch-King’s glowing eyes were solely on Glorfindel’s face, but Glorfindel’s influence over the Nazgul grew even stronger. He could see him for what he really was, and he began to drive him back, repelling whatever power he once had.

“I will not suffer to die this day, and neither will those who oppose your master.”

Glorfindel responded to the Witch-King’s mocking, and he drove his sword from his hand. And as the Witch-King’s sword of fire and damnation fell to the ground, Gil-galad and Cirdan drove the other wraiths away.

With a shrill cry, the Witch-King’s ire echoed from the gates and over the lands of Mordor. He had no choice but to withdraw beyond the Black Gate. And with him went what was left of his army, for Glorfindel and the might of the alliance had indeed struck them with fear this day.

As the forces of Sauron retreated beyond the gates and into the Pass of Udun, a cheer rang through the alliance. The gate had been taken, and the first objective of their plan had been fulfilled. In this victory, they took pause for a needed interlude before they were to press onward.

Elrond and anyone else who could offer some assistance to the wounded quickly tended those that needed it, and the commanders were quick to regroup their soldiers, readying them for the next phase of their assault. Fires were lit to light their path, and the quick assessment was underway by Elendil and Gil-galad.

Glorfindel’s eyes scanned the battlefields, dark under this hour before dawn. The dead was beyond count, from both sides. An old and familiar worry crossed his mind and his eyes searched for Thranduil. He saw healers tending to the wounded, and he saw those who barely cleaved to life desperately pleading for the deliverance of their suffering. It was overwhelming what came into Glorfindel’s eyes, but his strength did not lessen.

It was Thranduil who found him, and behind him was his people. Glorfindel watched as Thranduil moved away from his army, and came closer to him. He could see that Thranduil looked unscathed thus far, and for this Glorfindel was grateful. Thranduil’s eyes shone with his love for him, and so too did Glorfindel return that same look of affection.

“Soon we will pass to the lands just before Barad-dur.” Glorfindel said.

Although he wanted to grab Thranduil and embrace him with his kisses, he knew better than to behave in such a manner with Thranduil’s captains and armies watching their new King. It was the annoyance of both of their positions, and Glorfindel could tell that Thranduil as well had to suppress what he really wanted to do with him.

“Yes, soon does dawn another day of battle.” Thranduil answered, voice strained from his trials.

Glorfindel wanted to say more to him, but the horns Elendil sounded, and the time for battle was once again summoning them. Despite their want to embrace, both could only nod their subtle goodbyes to one another. And he watched Thranduil return back to his people with a yearning in his heart and a trepidation in his fae. Glorfindel worried for him, and it was something that he could not dispel.

\- - -

Just before the dawn had broken, the last soldier from the alliance had passed through the Black Gates, and they flooded into the Pass of Udun, determined to fight their way to Barad-dur. And down on them rained the wrath of Sauron’s might, for they had regrouped with the words from the Witch-King, and with the fell spells from Sauron. With strength renewed, they were once again resolved to destroy those who encroached into Mordor.

Many in the alliance were crushed beneath rock and metal when it rained down on them from the surrounding mountains. And the fire of Sauron’s hate swept through the armies, burning and singeing them to the ash of his damnation. Volleys of arrows pierced their armor, in round after round, and a fresh wave of Sauron’s forces clashed with the determined alliance, piercing their armor and bodies like a sweeping and unstoppable flood. But despite the strife they found, the alliance would not back down or retreat.

In this second day of battle, Anor could not break through the clouds of ash to bring light to Mordor. The land hung under heavy shadows that moved in sinister and deadly ways, giving cover to their enemy who came for them as if from the shadows alone. In the dark, the Witch-King lurked, commanding his soldiers with the malice of his spells. But he did not come forth and challenge them this day, for he was still unnerved by the power of the Eldar.

Instead of having to face the Nazgul, an enemy that somehow seemed to multiply before their eyes kept coming for them. But they matched what opposed them, and despite their strength, many lives were spilt as they pushed forward. Thranduil’s armies continued to bring down those that took the high ground. And Glorfindel led the valor of Imladris forward.

Night descended on the lands of Mordor, but those fighting could little tell that the day had turned. The same darkness still blanketed the land, and the only difference was now that the shadows were completely hidden. They were drawing closer to Mount Doom and Barad-dur, and even more ash covered their armor and the dead who hid the rocky ground. The air was heavier, thicker, and every movement seemed to demand from them more and more effort.

Long through this night of continuos battle, the alliance did not stop fighting. Weariness could not claim them, for their enemy did not waiver. All around them, their allies fell and moved no more, but their eyes would turn to their leaders, and the focus of their resolve was renewed. Before them, Gil-galad, Elendil and Glorfindel rallied them onward, for they were resolute with their valor, and they were upon the lands of Mordor a force that seemed to rival even Sauron.

The long hours of their toils brought them within the shadows of Barad-dur, but they could not break into the tower, for it was impregnable. A bottomless ravine circled the path to the tower, and the bridge was drawn firmly shut to them. The fortress walls glistened under Ithil’s cold light, and showed just how thick they were. The fortress towered above them with sinister heights. No breaching tower that they had in their possession would help them break into Barad-dur, and what once had seemed like an achievable objective, seemed not so certain any longer.

An endless deluge of arrows began to rain down on them from the walls and towers that ceased their advancements. The alliance moved back, and protected themselves behind the walls of their shields. They were weary now after continuos days of battle, and the commanders knew that they could not spare any more lives with reckless abandon. They would need to derive a better strategy to take Barad-dur. For now, the battle was over.

“Call back the troops, and see that they begin our lines of contravallations!”

Gil-galad commanded, and his captains were quick to carry out his orders, for they all understood that the protection of their troops was paramount now. They had lost so many soldiers taking the Black Gate, and their casualties had been even greater when they had passed through Udun. Indeed they were diminished, and their victory in this war now hung in a delicate balance.

“And so begins this siege, for here in the shadow of the Dark Tower and under the rain of ash and fire do we make our camp.” Gil-galad said to Elrond, while he took in the dreadful tower that loomed above them.

In his mind, Gil-galad knew that taking Barad-dur was almost futile, but it was there that Sauron remained untouched. And it was there where he plotted his assault of ruination. Taking Barad-dur was not an option in this war, for it was there that the Ring of Power was also protected. They had to break into the tower, for only then would they be able to destroy the ring and win this war.

Gil-galad’s eyes looked long at that tower with all of his enmity, before his gaze was once again on Elrond. And within his heart an elation rose, for he was relieved that Elrond lived. Even though he rarely showed it, within his heart, a special love for Elrond was harbored. It burned now like a dull ache, and a longing filled his mind for him.

But then his mind returned back to the issue at hand, for a great matter subjected all other feelings. He knew that the alliance had been diminished to dangerously low numbers. They had to focus on healing their wounded and sending out the request for whatever reinforcements could now come to them. Anarion’s army would have to leave Gondor and reinforce them, if any victory they hoped to have.

Their victory had came with such a heavy price. Gil-galad's heart ran cold at that thought.

And just like Anarion had a duty, so too did Elrond. Gil-galad understood that they could not indulge in the pleasures of the flesh just yet.

“See that our healers make haste to our wounded.” Gil-galad said, sending his herald away once more. “And Elrond, check on our commanders. If any have come to find injury, personally see to their care.”

 

/to be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-read. Sorry for all the mistakes and errors.
> 
> The Witch-King's dialogue is so close to what he said to Gandalf and to Eowyn. He really likes to recycle his words, I guess. 
> 
> I also made the Nazgul a little more movie-verse than book-verse. I wanted Glorfindel to have his badass moment fighting the Witch-King. As I pointed out, this story is A/U and does not reflect canon with 100% accuracy. 
> 
> thanks so much for reading!


	8. Blown Out On the Trail (Part 2)

It was Cirdan that Elrond visited first, for he had heard that he had battled the Nazgul alongside Gil-galad. Even though he had great valor, and was regarded as one of the mighty, Elrond could not stifle the concern that he had for him.

Beyond the camp of Lindon, he had been told that Cirdan would be found, for no rest would he take until their fortifications had been completed. And just like he had been told, Elrond found him, directing the construction of the walls for the southern defense. Elrond could see that the watch-towers were skillfully being built to guard for anything that might come for them from the south. Cirdan seemed not to notice his presence, for he was so concerned with this task. Elrond cleared his throat, and it rose over the noise, for he hoped that he could pry Cirdan away from his work.

He watched as Cirdan became aware of his presence, and he turned to face him. His deep eyes regarded Elrond with his kindness, and the warmth of his friendship spread across his face. Elrond could see that the weariness in his eyes was strong this day, but yet his courage endured and had not been broken, even after all the bloodshed that they had endured. Old he looked this day, as one of the aged exiles of Numenor. And Elrond was once again reminded of the oath that Cirdan had made to the Valar.

“I fear we will remain long under the shadow of Barad-dur.” Cirdan said, not bothering to offer any pleasantries before he spoke about what worried him.

“There is much to what you say, for the same images are in my mind.” Elrond answered. And he saw that Cirdan acknowledged his words with an understanding that few were able to comprehend. And the look that Cirdan gave Elrond made his heart shudder, for the implications of his words painted the future as bleak and condemned.

“Let us hope that our might does not fall in these years of trial.” Cirdan replied, and his eyes no longer held the worry of his forebodings. He motioned for Elrond to follow him, away from the noise and activity of the hasty but skillful construction around them.

“Has Gil-galad sent you to check on me?” Cirdan asked, guessing at the reason for this unexpected visit.

“He did. Numerous are the wounds that befell us these last few days, and Gil-galad and Elendil grow restless with concern. Our numbers have dropped to dangerous levels. And the might of our leadership lays heavy on his mind.”

“Elendil will send word to Anarion and more of the exiles will join us. And here in this wait, we will heal and grow our strength again. I have no doubt that we will fend off any sortie that comes for us.”

Cirdan stopped speaking and he smiled in realization that he hadn’t answered Elrond’s question about his own well being. “I am sound in body, Elrond, and even though the worry of our situation lays heavy on my mind, I have not found weariness.”

Elrond nodded with those words, and here in Cirdan’s presence his own anxieties lessened. There was always somethings so serene with Cirdan. Even when the topic was of woeful or dreadful nature, Cirdan had a way of infusing his own tranquility into others. He was grateful that he had sought out Cirdan first, for even though he was the healer, his own fae had became jaded, and he had really needed this relief.

Cirdan then bid Elrond farewell, for there were others that he needed to tend to, and Cirdan was needed for the construction of their southern fortifications.

\- - - -

After Elrond had checked in with the other commanders, Ithil had long since been chased away by Anor. Even though a new day had dawned, the sky was still dark under the black clouds of ash. It was Sauron’s design, of course, to aid his orc army. And just like the day of last, rocks and arrows were lobbed at their fortifications from the great gate before Barad-dur, for Sauron’s armies never slept.

But here in the camps that surrounded Barad-dur, the armies of the alliance were protected by the fortifications that they were constructing for their siege. And it was here in their camps that Elrond found himself walking, for there was one last general that he needed to look after, and Elrond had purposely saved this visit for last.

The campsite of the Silvan armies still was mighty, but Elrond frowned when he took in just how much less they were now than when they had first made camp with them, so many weeks ago. But then again, this was the case with all the individual armies, since so many within the alliance had fallen in the last days of battle. It was a truth that bore heavy on Elrond’s mind, for even though their wounds would heal, difficult it would be to ever heal the wounds that were imprinted upon their souls.

Elrond walked by many of the Greenwood’s soldiers, who eyed him curiously, and with guarded and scrutinizing eyes. Elrond knew not to take their wary stares personally, for he was the Herald of the High-King, and he understood that they still mourned for Oropher. He simply personified the ones who did not march with their King when they had charged the Black Gate.

With a troubled mind, Elrond made his way to Thranduil’s command tent, and he waited while a guard announced his presence. Several uneasy minutes passed for Elrond, and not a sound or movement came from the tent. He wondered if Thranduil would not grant him an audience this day. But before his mind could further fall into doubt, the flap of the tent was opened and the guard granted him permission to enter.

“Elrond, to what do I owe this unexpected honor of your visit today?” Thranduil asked, voice somewhat tense, but still rich with the hints of his courtesy.

Elrond took the sight of Thranduil in. He looked well in body, but his eyes revealed nothing. He had had been tending his sword, and he saw that he slowly sheathed it, before he turned his full attention to him.

And Elrond was not too sure however, if what Thranduil said was his ire masked behind benevolence, for his eyes were now cold and reserved, and his face reflected none of the warmth that Elrond had come to know of Thranduil. Elrond knew that much had changed for Thranduil, but much had changed for them all. He noted to tread with caution now, for he little wanted to cause a division between the Greenwood, for Elrond knew that their alliance was capricious.

“Thranduil.” Elrond said, and his voice was kind and his eyes and face reflected all the care that he genuinely had for Thranduil and his people. “I have come on behalf of Gil-galad to ask of your army’s needs, and to check on your well being.”

Thranduil’s silence to his words was response enough, and he little cared to mask the indignation that radiated forth from his eyes. It was as if he took insult to the question, and Elrond wondered why Thranduil was so quick to reject what was so freely offered, when before he had been so ardent to accept this alliance. Elrond couldn’t help but curse the stubborn and imprudent demeanor that ran through Oropher’s line, for Thranduil very much now emulated Oropher far too much for his liking.

“Please know that our resources are at your disposal, and should your army run low on supplies, what we have we gladly share with our brothers.” Elrond said when it was evident that Thranduil would not speak to him. While Gil-galad believed now that the alliance was united, Elrond understood that descent that still lurked beneath the placid surface of their fragile union. For now it was very evident that the trust that Thranduil had for them balanced on the edge of a blade. Gil-galad only had himself to blame for Thranduil’s wariness, and he knew that only complete victory in this war would be the only way healing would come to Thranduil’s soul.

Elrond watched as Thranduil’s face remained enigmatic, and his eyes no longer shone with any sort of indication to reveal what it was that he was thinking. He neither seemed annoyed nor appreciative of his words, but instead lingered in that ambiguous state that evaded even Elrond’s ability to decipher. Once again, Thranduil was simply an enigma.

“I thank you for your offer, Elrond, but we are not in need.” Thranduil responded. His eyes then became dismissive, finally revealing to Elrond what was in his mind.

Elrond heard the words, and he understood that his presence was not welcomed here. “Well, since there is nothing more that I wish to address with you Thranduil, I will now take my leave. Glorfindel did not escape unscathed in our battles and he has just returned to our camps. I have been asked by Gil-galad to personally see to his wounds.”

It was only with those words that Thranduil’s mask had broken, and his face instantly became awash with concern.

“How serious are his wounds?” Thranduil asked.

“From what I have been told, not too precarious, but he is still in need of a healer’s touch.” Elrond replied, for he was pleased to see that Thranduil’s heart had not completely been lost to them with the weight of his grief and anger.

“Elrond, allow me to tend to Glorfindel’s wounds in your stead.” Thranduil said, and he did little to hide his deep affection for Glorfindel within the tone of his voice.

Elrond only pondered on his request but for a second, before he nodded in agreement. Thranduil was a gifted healer, and he knew that he would tend to Glorfindel with the upmost care.

“Is such a task befitting for the Greenwood’s King?” Elrond jokingly asked, and he saw a spark of amusement flash within Thranduil’s eyes, if only just briefly.

And suddenly it felt to Elrond that he and Thranduil were back in simpler times, when they had been younger and were both but students of the healing arts. He and Thranduil had laughed often then, for they were both quick to find the beauty in life. Back then, Thranduil’s antics were often whimsical and eccentric, and had always amused him.

But Elrond knew that such a time was long over, and never again would their lives be that simple. Truth be told, life hadn’t been simple even then, but compared to the strife that struck them now, Elrond greatly yearned for those long lost days. And even though he tried his best to keep his mind focused on alleviating the tension, his own heart was heavy with the weight of his burdens.

“If he is not so seriously wounded, as you say, surely your immense talents are needed elsewhere and with more dire cases. Remember Elrond, you are by far a better healer than I could ever dream of being. The health of Lord Glorfindel is paramount to our alliance, and as such, not a menial task for me to tend to. For the safety of my people in Greenwood relies on a victory here, and I have misgivings of our victory without Glorfindel in our midst.”

For the first time since his father had died, a jovial smile crossed Thranduil’s face. He was surprised that Elrond could find a way to break through his jaded and marred heart so easily. But Elrond had, and Thranduil was once again a witness to just how gracious Elrond really was. And for this, Thranduil could no longer direct his anger at Elrond, for it wasn’t Elrond who had grieved him. Always would Elrond be counted as a friend to him.

Elrond couldn’t help but laugh with Thranduil’s words, for he was glad to see that Thranduil once again reflected the kindred spirit that he had come to know. His words, although serious, were spoken with his mirth.

“You will find Glorfindel in his tent where you can see to his wellbeing. I will walk with you there, for I have some supplies to provide to you for his care, and I have left them in my tent.”

Thranduil nodded, and he walked beside Elrond through the campsite of the Greenwood, which soon turned to encampment of Imladris. Thranduil had insisted on setting up his camp next to theirs. Despite being Gil-galad’s herald, Elrond’s tent stood here, and he bid Thranduil enter so he could give him the supplies for Glorfindel.

“How are your people, Thranduil?” Elrond asked as he gathered what he needed.

“They cleave to each other, for it is in friends and kin that they find their strength. The people of Greenwood are loyal, and they understand that we can not give up this fight here. You need not worry about us, Elrond.”

Thranduil’s words were not spoken to be cold or indifferent, but were spoken with honesty and to give a reassurance that although beaten down, the spirit that drove the people of the Greenwood was something that an outsider could never understand.

Elrond nodded at his words, for what was said brought comfort to him. He knew not to press Thranduil further, for now upon him was a peace, and Elrond dare not disturb the tranquil waters within Thranduil's heart.

“His tent is not too far from mine, just to the left.” Elrond said, and he handed Thranduil the supplies before they said their valedictions.

\- - - -

“Elrond told me that you are injured.” Thranduil said as he entered into Glorfindel’s tent without invitation.

Only Glorfindel was within, and Thranduil saw that he had been removing his battle armor, and the last piece fell to the rugs that comprised the floor of the tent. Even despite the injuries that he had incurred during the battle, Elrond had told him that he been at the front, ensuring that their fortifications were being built for their siege. Ever glorious but ever stubborn, Thranduil would not have Glorfindel any other way.

He sat down the medical supplies, before he moved closer to Glorfindel. Even in the dim light of the candles, Thranduil could see that Glorfindel’s eyes looked upon him with the warmness of his affection, and instantly his heart was awash in relief and his mind relaxed, for he knew that Glorfindel held no grievance against him. Indeed, it was his love that reflected in his eyes. But Thranduil fretted when he saw that mixed within his eyes, were his exhaustion and a faint reflection of his pain. It was clear that he was welcome here, and the troubles within Thranduil’s mind seemed to melt away as once again his focus was only on Glorfindel.

“I believe that Elrond has exaggerated my plight.” Glorfindel grinned in response to Thranduil’s words. “I may look worse for wear, but my wounds are really nothing. I have suffered far worse, and I will live to see many more days of battle.”

Despite his intense worry for the one he loved, Thranduil feigned an amused smile in response to Glorfindel’s minimizing of his injuries. His concerned eyes scanned over Glorfindel, and with his healer’s eyes he could see that Glorfindel had a bruise that covered his temple, and Thranduil felt an anger rise from within him for whatever had caused such harm to him. He also saw that his right hand had a cut, and he wondered what other injuries were hidden beneath his clothing.

As if Glorfindel could read what was on his mind, he lifted his shirt to reveal a cut that ran from the pit of his arm and down to his navel. Blood was stained upon his skin, dark and coagulated, and Thranduil knew that he had lost a fair amount of blood. And then without further pressing from Thranduil, Glorfindel removed his boots and then his leggings, and his muscular legs came into view.

To Thranduil’s knowing and trained eyes, he knew that the cut that he saw on his torso wasn’t pressing with gravity, but without proper care, he knew that it could fester with infection. He also knew that Glorfindel needed proper nourishment and rest. His eyes continued to scan Glorfindel’s body with the critique of his training. Bruises had already formed on his torso and his legs, and Thranduil knew that Glorfindel had fought very valiantly. He even somewhat pitied the poor beasts that had met their end by Glorfindel’s sword.

“It is just a little flesh wound.” Glorfindel laughed when he saw the concern within Thranduil’s eyes.

“Let me be the judge of what it is that I am assessing.” Thranduil’s voice was stern, but held the hints of his playfulness.

He handed Glorfindel a flask containing miruvor, and he only briefly watched him drink it, before he turned away to prepare the medicine and other items that would be needed for his work. He could feel Glorfindel’s eyes on him, watching him as he mixed the balms that he would use on the various wounds. He had to note to keep his concentration on the task at hand, for his task required his full attention, and it took all of his resolve to not turn his gaze to Glorfindel’s alluring eyes and his glorious body.

“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” Glorifndel teased him, for he wanted to lessen the gravity of the current world that they found themselves in. He knew that Thranduil worried greatly about him, but he also knew that Thranduil’s worries were heavy these days, and he little wanted to add to the distress that he knew Thranduil battled.

Thranduil didn’t respond, but he allowed his face to relax from his seriousness, for he found that indeed his mood had changed to being more jovial and serene. He continued to work, quickly, but he minded to ensure that his preparation was accurate. Once he had finished, he turned his attention back on Glorfindel.

Stunning. Thranduil thought, even though Glorfindel’s body was bruised with the abuse of the battle, and dried blood stained his enticing skin. Even despite this, his ethereal allure could never be diminished. He motioned for Glorfindel to sit on his cot, and he watched with transparent eyes as Glorfindel did as he asked, and he stretched his body out to allow Thranduil to tend to him.

With a delicate touch, Thranduil’s supple hands washed Glorfindel’s body, freeing him from the black blood of the orcs, and of his own blood that marred his glorious body. Thranduil payed special attention to the cut on his torso that he was afraid would fester into infection. His fingers brushed against his skin, gently, like a shadow in the evening, and once the cut was cleaned to his satisfaction, Thranduil applied the healing balm to the wound. As he worked the balm into the cut, he could feel Glorfindel flinch from the sting of the balm and the pain from his wound. Without even thinking, Thranduil placed a tender kiss to the skin, and he trailed more on Glorfindel’s torso before he resumed his work.

Even though his wounds were not grave, Thranduil still focused the energy of his fae onto Glorfindel’s body. He could feel the power that he had trained so hard to control pour from him, and he closed his eyes as it flowed over Glorfindel. Indeed, Thranduil seemed to weave his soul with Glorfindel’s, but even as natural as it felt, he restrained his fae from binding too strongly with Glorfindel, for despite what he wanted, Thranduil was still aware of the fact that they could never really belong to one another.

Glorfindel could feel the rush of Thranduil’s magic sweep over him and then he felt it flow through him. Deep within his heart, he could feel the shards of Thranduil’s fae pierce his own heart, and a warm rush of euphoria enveloped him. It was like a spring day, both warm but holding the hints of a lingering coldness, budding alive from a deep slumber, new and so poignantly seductive with its sorrow. It was almost more than Glorfindel could resist, for to him, Thranduil was desire.

But then Glorfindel could feel that Thranduil pulled his fae back, for he could not bind himself to him. And Glorifndel felt an instant void in his heart, and it pierced him like the cold of winter and the dark of the blackest night. Even though he wanted to protest this inanition, Glorfindel as well knew that such a bond could not be. It was the simple truth, and all that they could do was live within the deceit that had come to define their love.

Thranduil continued to tend to Glorfindel’s body, and the erection that was forming did not escape his notice. In fact, it took all of Thranduil’s restraint not to tug off the cloth that concealed it from him, and then wrap his lips around it. But he had work to do, and he took his healing duties seriously. Once he was satisfied with the care that he had provided to Glorfindel, Thranduil then wound a cloth across the wound on his torso.

“Thank you Thranduil, for the care that you have given me.” Glorfindel expressed his gratitude, and he was reminded when he had tended Thranduil back in the Greenwood. He couldn’t help but smile as he felt that they had come full circle.

Thranduil’s care had been adept, and while Glorfindel knew that he had been a healer once, he had never had Thranduil work on him before. Where once the aches of the battle had lingered in his body, now he only felt relief. His body felt healed, alive and very enflamed with his desire. The love that he had for Thranduil resounded within his heart and his length was heavy between his legs. He wanted him, craved him, and desired to claim him once again.

He leaned closer to Thranduil and they kissed, and Thranduil let his fingers run over Glorfindel’s broad chest, for what was before him was simply too much for him to resist. His eyes beckoned to Glorfindel and they revealed his wanton desires, for once again the feelings that he could not control when he was around the one he loved washed over him and took hold of him.

Glorfindel pulled Thranduil even closer to him, and he enveloped him within his embrace. They kissed with a hunger that neither could control nor ever satisfy. That same hunger drove them to pull off Thranduil’s clothing, for Glorfindel yearned to see his glorious body. And as his naked body came into view, Glorfindel’s heart immediately quickened in its beating, for Thranduil was always something to behold.

But then Thranduil pushed Glorfindel down on the cot, and he began to work Glorfindel’s body, seemingly intent to be the one who took control this time. And even as good as that felt, Glorfindel sat up beside him.

“No, lay back. Let me bring comfort to you like you have brought to me this day.” Glorfindel’s voice was gentle, caring, imploring Thranduil to relinquish all of his worries and grief, for he wanted nothing more than to bring happiness again to Thranduil, and to make the dark of his days brighten just a little.

Thranduil only raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t protest at Glorfindel’s words. Instead he was willing, eager even to surrender himself to Glorfindel’s whims, for with him, he felt safe and loved. He wound his arms around Glorfindel again, and they kissed in their embrace.

Thranduil allowed Glorifndel to lower him down onto the cot, and he looked up into the compassionate face of his lover. And he closed his eyes when Glorfindel’s hands moved down his body, touching him with a tenderness that eased the pain that had tore at his heart. Even though they were in the midst of Mordor, it was as if they were wrapped within the folds of a sanctuary, and were sheltered from the storms that raged around them.

Lovingly, Glorfindel traced a scar on Thranduil’s torso that he had tended to so long ago. It still marred his skin, faint but visible. It brought him back to when he first had fallen in love with Thranduil, and before he had come to taste what couldn’t be his. It had been a long journey loving Thranduil, both bittersweet and so incredible.

A possessiveness then roared to life within Glorfindel’s heart, and he could no longer subdue the want that he had for him. He pulled Thranduil in for a tighter embrace, claiming his lips with a ferocity that fulled him even further.

“Oil.” Glorfindel said as he broke from their embrace and he rummaged through his belongings. A vial of oil was pulled out, and he could see the gleam of anticipation in Thranduil’s eyes. Those green eyes beckoned him back to him, pulling him with a command that Glorfindel always yearned for. Glorfindel kept his gaze on Thranduil, while he worked the oil on his hands, and with his eyes alone, he signaled for Thranduil to spread his legs wide for him.

Teasingly, Glorfindel massaged Thranduil’s ass in a continuous circle, and then a lone finger circled his entrance, as a wicked smirk crossed his face. He watched as Thranduil closed his eyes, for it was evident that he relished his touch, and his mouth opened slightly as he exhaled. His breathing became heavier, personifying his aching need for Glorfindel. But Glorfindel knew that Thranduil had vast patience, and he made no rush, for he wanted to prolong the caressing of Thranduil’s body.

When Thranduil’s moans turned from the sounds of frisky anticipation to those of needy and urging pleadings, it was then that Glorfindel’s oiled finger pushed inside. The tight and warm passage seemed to suck his finger inside, and Thranduil moved his hips into the touch, as he tried to pull it in deeper, silently urging Glorfindel to touch his sensitive spot within.

Glorfindel relished the tightness of the passage that clinched around his finger, and the warm heat that engulfed him shot straight to his own aching cock. Moans of pleasure seemed to sweep him away from these fields of war, and away his mind was carried far from Mordor. And it seemed to him that it was just he and Thranduil alone in this world without a care or worry. But Thranduil’s urgings brought his attention back, and Glorfindel wickedly smiled.

“Patience now, my love, for soon shall I give you what you desire.”

Glorfindel whispered into Thranduil’s ear, for he very much was enjoying bringing him to glorious ruin. His tongue traced the outline of his ear, before he claimed it within his mouth. Lascivious moans escaped from Thranduil’s lips once more, yearning, urging, pleading for Glorfindel to claim him already.

But Glorfindel only continued the sweet fondling of his body, and he let his other fingers circle a nipple, bringing it to hardness, before he pinched it, which brought forth a throaty whine from his lover. It sounded like music to Glorfindel’s ears, and he moved his mouth to it, sucking it, before he bit it playfully.

Thranduil writhed more beneath his touch, his neck arched and his toes curled, and his voice beckoned for him to add more fingers in, luring him to stretch him and fill him with his wonderful strokes. It was becoming harder for Glorfindel to resist the pleading, for it was almost too much for him to quell the fire that burnt from his groan.

As Glorfindel’s finger pumped in and out of his tight passage, Thranduil began to relax his body, even though his heart pounded with anticipation and his body burned with his arousal. Even though he wanted nothing more than for Glorfindel to just claim him now, he had resigned himself to Glorfindel’s command, and so he yielded to his every whim, gladly surrendering to this glorious foreplay.

And just when Thranduil thought that Glorfindel would forsake his pleadings, Glorfindel added a second finger into his passage and he felt the sweet burn of his muscle stretching. But he needed and wanted more, for his glorious touch could not satisfy the yearning that he had for his cock. Luckily for him, Glorfindel was not done yet, and his other hand encircled Thranduil’s cock, and he began to stroke his erection, awakening it more, teasing the head with strokes that drove Thranduil even closer to his mounting orgasm.

Glorfindel listened to the needy moans that were intensifying, and his voice rolled through the tent, throaty and desperate. He was pleading for Glorfindel to fill him, and his head rolled back even more. Glorfindel was more than happy to comply, and he wickedly turned his wrist, still determined however to prolong this time with Thranduil. For tomorrow was not guaranteed, and even if they both survived this war, Glorfindel only knew that the distance of their circumstances would once again tear them asunder.

Glorfindel was quick to move away from such lamentable thoughts, as once again just this moment with Thranduil only filled his entire perception. His own body flamed with his arousal, and his cock hung heavy and ached between his legs. Although he wished that Thranduil’s lips were around it or that he was already pounding into him, the desire that he had to bring pleasure to Thranduil drove his every action now.

As he pumped and scissored his fingers deeper into Thranduil, he could hear his pleading and desperate voice rise higher and higher. He moaned with incoherent yearnings, and his voice drove Glorfindel further. The flush that covered Thranduil’s body and the way that he arched his neck was intoxicating, alluring, and Thranduil made him burn with a strong arousal, for he wanted nothing more than to hear Thranduil screaming out his name.

Wanting to drive him further with his lust, Glorfindel’s mouth moved to Thranduil’s arousal, and his tongue danced over the weeping slit. He let his tongue linger there, tasting Thranduil’s erotic taste, before he took his length deep into his mouth. Up and down he moved his mouth, and his tongue danced across the sensitive skin of his cock. The gasps that Thranduil made now were maddening to Glorfindel’s ears, and even the vast patience of his resolve had been chipped away.

Mind now hazy with the fog of his desire, Glorfindel could no longer resist what was being offered so freely to him. Through the lust of his haze, he moved his mouth from Thranduil’s cock, and then he managed to coat his own length with the rest of the oil, for he could no longer contain the maddening desire that ached through his entire body.

Without words, he pushed into Thranduil, and his eager body pulled him in, greedy and longing for him. Thranduil felt the burn of the stretch as his body accommodated to Glorfindel’s long and ample girth. The touch of his lover was familiar to him, but every time that he got to taste Glorfindel, it seemed to surpass each moment that he had with him before.

As Glorfindel moved inside him, he could feel the sweet rhythm that he set, slow at first as if to savor what once again they had, but soon, his thrusts grew faster, needier, wilder as it was evident that Glorfindel has been swept away within the waves of his pleasure. Thranduil noted to meet his thrusts, and he arched his hips, allowing Glorfindel to move deeper within him.

After awhile, Thranduil had to close his eyes, for stars seemed to burst and his body ignited with an ecstasy when Glorfindel’s cock had hit that spot. Again that spot was pounded, and he cried out his pleasure, not caring if his wanton moans echoed throughout the entire camp, and could be heard throughout the lands of Mordor.

Glorfindel pounded into Thranduil now with wild abandon, and the heat that wrapped around his cock was pulling his orgasm to erupt. He lost himself with the sweet friction, minding to angle his cock to hit that spot that drove Thranduil to ruin. And as he thrust deep into Thranduil, he grabbed hold of his erection, pumping him in time with his thrusts, bringing them both closer to their orgasms.

Despite the fatigue that both of them had, the orgasms that ripped through their bodies was powerful, amorous, and beautiful, even in these vile lands that they found themselves in. Both clutched onto one another, not wanting to let go, hearts almost pounding as one.

“There was once a time that I asked you when I would not need you anymore. Truthfully I say that this will never come to pass for me.” Thranduil said, finally breaking the silence.

"I know, for the feelings are the same for me." Glorfindel’s smile was laden with a lingering sadness, and he held Thranduil tighter within his arms. Even though there was no promise of tomorrow, he understood Thranduil’s words, for this bitter longing was also his to endure.

 

/to be continued

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not beta read.


End file.
